The Misplaced Prince

Disinherited Prince Series

Book Six

By

Guy Antibes

Table of Contents

Map of the continent of Eastril & Daera

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Excerpt from The Fractured Empire

Copyright Page

Author’s Note

A Bit About Guy

Books by Guy Antibes

The Misplaced Prince

Copyright ©2017 Guy Antibes. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the permission of the author.

~

This is a work of fiction. There are no real locations used in the book, the people, settings and specific places are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, locations, or places are purely coincidental.

Published by CasiePress LLC in Salt Lake City, UT, June, 2017.

www.casiepress.com

Cover & Book Design:  Kenneth Cassell

~

AUTHOR’S NOTE

~

Pol needs a breather, but not quite the breather he gets in The Misplaced Prince. Pol’s life takes a turn, but not necessarily for the worst as he gets some time to develop during the time his memories are restricted. For this book, Pol and Demeron are on their own. However, I didn’t like the entire book to be about just the two of them, so we get to put in some time with Shira. During their time apart, she needs to develop some skills as well and that happens during this book. This is the first time I’ve written anything in the actual novels in anything other than Pol’s point of view (except for a necessary coda to The Emperor’s Pet).

I’d like to thank Judy and Ken for contributions on this episode and my wife Bev, who helped along the way.

— Guy Antibes

In the world of Phairoon

Map of the southern portion of the continent of Eastril and the continent of Daera

(Contact Guy for a clearer map at www.guyantibes.com)

The Misplaced Prince

~

Prologue

~

P ol Cissert Pastelle, newly adopted into the Emperor’s family, is tricked into leaving the Shinkyan capital of Tishiko and is physically knocked out by the Scorpion faction. Not wanting Pol dead, but wanting him out of the way, they place a ward on his mind that brings forgetfulness. He will need a high-level magician to remove the ward to restore his memories. Demeron will travel with him and perhaps help Pol find a magician. The Scorpions don’t expect that to happen, but a chance is a chance.

He is placed on a ship with Demeron and headed for Daera, where no one knows him, but he is magically disguised as a Shinkyan.  Their ship is caught in a violent storm and Demeron, with Pol strapped to his back, jumps into the sea and sets out for the shore.  They make it to a sandy beach where Demeron collapses, and both of them sleep.

After Pol awakens, Demeron writes their names in the sand. All Pol knows is his name and Demeron’s name.  They head off into the jungle and come across a village where watchmen capture them. The village chief has the village Shaman administer a truth spell and finds out that Pol has no memories of his former life.

Not knowing what else to do with Pol, they place him in an apprenticeship with the village tanner. Pol goes from being an Imperial Prince to a tanner’s assistant, from Emperor’s Pet to tanner’s pet, as he has now become the Misplaced Prince.

~~~

Chapter One

~

Pol

~

P ol’s stomach complained as the village tanner clapped him on the back.

“Does being your apprentice get me some food? I honestly can’t tell you the last time I had anything to eat,” Pol said, looking towards Bingi, then at the tall Chief Gonga and Naori, the village shaman.

“That’s something we will fix right now,” Bingi, the village tanner, said. “Let’s go. Is everything on your horse?” The tanner’s aromatic garb was a put-off, but Pol felt he could persevere as long as he could get something in his stomach quickly.

“It is, although that doesn’t mean much. I’m guessing the ship that I rode went down with more of my belongings,” Pol said. He figured his Shinkyan coins wouldn’t last long, so they would be tucked away in his saddlebags, waiting for the day he left the village. Having lost his memory, he needed some time to determine where he was and what he could do.

Bingi gave the chief a nod. “I’ll bring him back tomorrow sometime. I’m sure you’ll want to tell him about the apprenticeship rules.”

“Rules?” Pol said. Perhaps he had made a poor decision in accepting the apprenticeship. He knew what an apprenticeship was, but he couldn’t remember if he had ever been an apprentice.

“Tomorrow,” Gonga said.

Bingi pulled Pol out of the Chief’s hut and waited for him to fetch Demeron.  Pol peeked in the saddlebags to see if his money was still there. It was. He took a relieved breath and followed the tanner out of the village, leading Demeron.

“We live a fair distance from Soagi, the name of our village. Oddly, no one wants to live around my tannery,” Bingi said grinning.

Pol had to ask him about a few of his words, but he caught the gist of what the man said. Where had he learned the language? He didn’t remember Shinkya, but they said he looked like a Shinkyan. The writing on the Shinkyan coin was different than scribblings Demeron had made on the beach. If he remembered languages and didn’t know all the words of the villagers, that meant he had never been to this land before.

He felt out of control, and that made him uneasy. Pol wanted to take everything in stride and go along with the flow of events, but he just did not have enough information to know who he was. Could the trauma of the ship going down have damaged his mind?

Demeron nudged Pol from behind. That brought a smile to Pol’s face. At least the horse had been a friend. What kind of horse could spell and communicate? Pol didn’t know. How could his memory be so selective that he could remember languages, but not the countries where the languages originated?

“Do I get paid for being an apprentice?”

Bingi turned around. “Pay? Of course. It isn’t much once I deduct for room and board. My wife cooks our meals, so you will have to endure that. There is a decent-sized shack for you, although it could stand a little cleaning.”

The man mumbled half of his words, so Pol had to ask him to repeat himself, but he was picking up how Bingi spoke. He wondered how much he could learn from the tanner. He didn’t have high hopes about that, but Pol would try to get into the village as much as he could to learn about his new country.

After walking for a while, the tanner turned into a little compound. There were some sturdy wooden frames set up on one side of the yard. Half of the frames had hides stretched out. Three wall-less sheds contained odd tables that were thick but narrow. Pol looked around and saw a row of wooden vats downslope on the lower edge of the property.

He turned his head and saw three whitewashed shacks. The thatched roofing looked a bit disheveled, and the whitewash wasn’t white anymore. One was large, and two of them were smaller. He supposed those had to be the living quarters.

Pol didn’t know what to think about the place. It all looked foreign to him, but then what did he expect if his memories were locked away in his brain, if they even remained?

“You have to make a little corral for your horse. There is a clearing on the other side of the houses,” Bingi said. “Put your things in your shack, and then we can get to work.”

“What have you got there?” a large woman said as she walked out of the largest shack. “Where did you ever get that horse? It looks like it belongs to a Lord.” She gazed up at Demeron.

“The Lord is our new apprentice, Doara. Meet Pol. He washed up on the beach not far from here, and the sea washed out his brain. He can’t remember where he’s from. Chief Gonga won’t take him in, so I got him as an apprentice.”

“About time. Maybe we can make some money again,” Doara said. She walked up to Pol and peered at his face. “He isn’t one of us.”

“Naori said he looks like a Shinkyan. He speaks a bit of Shinkyan but not like the Shinkyan’s I’ve ever talked to.”

“Poor dear.” Doara took Pol’s hand and rubbed it. “Not a working boy, that’s for sure.” She looked at Pol. “We’ll take care of you while you get your memories back. There’s a lot of work here, and soon these hands won’t be as soft.”

“I know how to work,” Pol said. “My name is Pol, and my horse is named Demeron.”

“I’m Doara, Bingi’s wife, but you probably have got that figured out,” she said slowly and loudly.

Pol smiled. She could tell he didn’t speak very well and had spoken slowly. “I would appreciate it if we could talk from time to time to improve my language skills.”

She nodded. “You’re different from the typical riff-raff Bingi brings. They have been the naughty boys in the village. You don’t look like one of those.” She smiled and stroked his hand again. “There is a nice clearing on the other side of our house for your horse. You’ll have to build a corral.”

“Demeron doesn’t need one, but if you’ll feel better about it, I can put something up.” Pol said. He didn’t exactly know how to make a corral, but he could figure something out.

Doara squeezed his hand and led him to the smallest of the shacks. The place was dirty, and the furniture looked like it would easily break when used. The woman pursed her lips. “You can clean, can’t you?”

Pol nodded.

“Then this place is yours. The last two apprentices wanted to live in the main house. I didn’t really like that, so this is yours to fix up as you please.”

Pol smiled. “Thank you. I think I would like to be alone, anyway. I believe I have a lot to think about.”

“Thinking’s for another time,” Bingi said. “Time to get to work.”

The tanner pushed Pol out of the little house, leaving Doara standing by herself.

“I’ll give you a quick idea of what we do, and then we’ll go harvest bark for tanning.”

Pol looked back at Doara standing at the door to his new home. He bowed to her and followed Bingi over to the yard to learn about how to tan leather. It was all new to him. Tanning was a dirty, smelly process. Pol didn’t know if he knew how it worked before or not, but he would have to learn.

The hides came from a few cattle farms to the west and northwest. The first step was to soak them for a few days in water. They had to be scraped and then put in a lime solution to help take off the hair. The long thin tables were for scraping. The hides had to be scraped again and then put in tanning vats for weeks. After rinsing, the hides were stretched onto frames and beaten to maintain pliability.

Bingi said the hides could be smoked or oiled depending on the order.

“I don’t make fine leather for clothes. My, or should I say our, skins are for working uses. Shoes, saddles, belts, straps of all kinds. Durable stuff.”

Pol figured out the process and realized that it took a lot of work to make leather and Bingi had been doing it by himself for the last eight months. No wonder Doara said they couldn’t make any money.

“Now that you know all of that, follow me,” Bingi said. He led Pol past the scraping huts; the tanner showed him to a stream that flowed on the north part of the property. The village was south.

Pol looked at the stream flowing beneath his feet. Someone, Bingi most likely, had built up a high edge on the side of the stream heading towards the tannery. A pipe led from the bank heading back towards the property.

“That is my water supply,” Bingi said. “I use it for all kinds of things. Tanning takes a lot of washing and a lot of soaking.”

Pol now understood that. “Where does the waste water go?”

Bingi grinned. “The stream heads straight out to the ocean. There isn’t another village from here to there, so I just dump everything back into the stream on the other side of the vats. It cuts down on the smell. Someone located the tannery here a long time ago for that reason.”

Pol couldn’t tell. The odor from the tanning processes and the hides couldn’t be worse, but he vowed to endure. Doara seemed nice, but he wasn’t so sure about Bingi. The place seemed to be refuge enough for Pol’s purposes. After another whiff of the vats, it was plain that whoever set up the place put the tannery where it was for a reason other than easy access to the water.

“Come with me,” he said, walking into the woods. Bingi pointed out three species of trees. All of them had rough bark. “These are used for my tanning. There is tannin in the bark that takes the rotting parts out of the leather. That’s what tanning does. If you leave untanned leather out, it goes bad. We don’t want that. You’ll have to travel north on the path to a red stake. That’s where you can scrape the bark off the trees and bring them back here. You need to spend a day each week doing that.”

“Why do I go so far?” Pol asked.

“The trees closer in have all been harvested. This tannery has been in operation for a long, long time. I get help from the village to remove the old trees and plant new ones on a regular basis. We all pitch in to make things work here.”

Pol nodded. He wondered if he already knew this, but his mind didn’t give him an answer.  He may be learning something once familiar to him, but he just soaked it in. The village working as a cooperative unit seemed something worth contemplating. He guessed some people cooperated more than others, and he expected he’d have the opportunity to test that guess.

~

After a hard day doing all of the physical work in the tannery, Pol walked into Bingi’s house where he ate with the couple. He had little to do the next day, but that still meant checking the vats to make sure the solutions were topped up, so the curing leather didn’t dry out. Bingi timed the work so they could get a less intensive day once a week.

Bingi was out in the yard counting hides in the second shack that held his cured hides. Doara put lamb stew on the table.

“I wish we could raise animals, but the smells affect the animals as much as it does the rest of us,” she said. “I have a tiny shack just off the road to the village where I wash and change my clothes.” She smiled. “I get better treatment when I shop after I’ve cleaned up.”

Pol hadn’t heard of it before, but then he still hadn’t found the time to go into the village, and he had spent the last two months learning all about tanning.

“How do I go about whitewashing my shack? It’s dismal inside.”

Doara brightened up. “We make our own. Bingi’s too lazy. You can take Demeron into the village and buy a few extra bags of lime that Bingi gets delivered.  Do you want me to go with you?”

“I’d like that. Will Bingi be upset?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. We’ll go tomorrow morning.”

The next morning, Pol was up and ready. Doara stepped down onto the ground from Bingi’s hit, and they headed to the village. Pol could still hear Bingi snoring, even after they reached the road.

“A nice day. Did you bring any money?”

Pol stopped. “I didn’t.”

“Never mind. We’ll spend your pay today.”

Pol didn’t even know what the local coinage looked like since he had left the village for the tannery in the same hour that he arrived.

There was a market set up in the middle of the village. Unfamiliar men wearing a different style of clothes manned the stalls.

“The merchants don’t live here?” Pol asked Doara. She looked different, dressed more nicely after she had changed in the shack. At least Pol had thought to bathe in the stream the previous night.

“No. The market men travel from village to village. There are usually two or three of them selling the same things. Competition is good to keep the prices down,” Doara said. “Watch me haggle. You’ll get a better feeling for what things are worth. We’ll buy you a new set of clothes, so you can put them in my changing shack. No matter how hard you try, you can’t wash the tanning smell from your work clothes.”

Pol had gotten so used to the smell that he didn’t even notice, but from the looks of the villagers, they did. He hung back from Doara but listened as she shopped for food and his clothes. Bingi needed more drawing knives, so she haggled for a while with a cutlery merchant.

“Do you need a knife?” she asked Pol.

“For what?”

“A man needs some protection. Pick one out,” she said.

Pol looked at both used and new knives. He held various ones and realized that he knew about balance. He wondered what other things he knew but hadn’t yet drawn from his mind. After trying a few out, Pol chose a used longish knife with very good balance. He swished it around a bit.

“The lad looks like he knows how to use one of those.”

Doara looked at Pol. “Do you?”

“I might,” Pol said. He could picture himself using the thing.

“There’s no sheath for this,” the merchant said.

“I can make one,” Pol replied and looked at Doara.

“I like the shiny new ones better,” she said.

The merchant chuckled. “The lad has picked the best of the lot. Most people pass that one by, but even though it’s older, it’s a well-made Shinkyan blade.”

Shinkya. Pol narrowed his eyes and looked at the knife with its blunt top edge and slight curve. Had he used one of these before? He must have.

“I hold a knife-throwing contest in two hours. If you are still around, you might want to try. I provide the knives. If you like the one that you throw, you can buy it at a large discount, too.”

“I’ll be back,” Pol said. He wondered if he had learned to toss knives and figured that if he tried, he would find out.

For the rest of the time in the village, Pol learned the value of the Kirian coinage. He also learned that he lived in Kiria and kept his ears open as he picked up a lot of things while observing Doara as they walked through the market. They sat down with a purchased lunch at the village’s social center, a wall-less building with a roof covering a concrete floor filled with tables.

He let Doara pick out his clothes and made sure they looked like the clothes other youths wore in the village. She took him to a materials supplier who had a stall, but the market man didn’t sell as much as take orders.

“Three additional bags of lime. You can deliver it with our next shipment,” Doara said.

“Time to repaint those shacks of yours? I didn’t think Bingi would ever do such a thing.”

“He won’t. Our apprentice Pol will.”

“How long will he last? Bingi’s last apprentice didn’t make it more than six months, right?”

“Pol is a special case. He has a lot to learn,” Doara said.

Pol was amused by the fact that both of them spoke of him as if he wasn’t even there. He agreed with Doara. He needed to learn a lot to discover who he was. He doubted that many apprentices didn’t know who they were.

Pol expected the lime and chalk in two weeks. Doara promised him that he’d get the time to paint everything.

They had dawdled long enough to finally hear the cutlery merchant call for participants for the knife-throwing contest. Doara pushed him along. Part of the market had been roped off, and a board with painted circles was set up at one end as the contestants gathered.

Twenty people congregated around the merchant. Pol was surprised that there were all ages represented, as well as a few young women. The merchant held up a hat. They all pulled out a slip of paper. Pol pulled one out but didn’t know how to read Kirian script, so he gave it to Doara.

“You don’t know how to read?” she said,

“I do, but not Kirian,” Pol said. It was the first time he had ever called the language the villagers spoke anything.

“I barely know my letters, but a girl’s got to know her numbers. It says seventeen.”

Pol nodded and listened for the rules.

“There will be three rounds. We will cut the field to the top five, and then the top two go at it for the prize,” the merchant said.  He spread out knives on a folding table.  “Pick your weapon. You get three practice tosses.”

Pol looked the knives over and found one that had good balance. He waited for a turn and threw the knife, hitting the center.

“Luck,” Pol said a little louder than he needed to. He knew he had tossed knives before. He felt he could hit the center each and every time. Where did he acquire such a talent?  He had to shake his head. When he tried to place himself somewhere, his mind refused to work.

He purposely missed the center of the target on his next throws. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, but he did like the knife and wanted to win.

The first round showed Pol that many of the villagers hadn’t practiced enough. Interestingly, two young women dressed in closer fitting mannish clothing remained in the second round of five. Pol barely made the next round, throwing just good enough to proceed, as did two men who looked to be in their mid-twenties. Bingi told Pol that he looked sixteen or seventeen, so they were older than he.  He didn’t know how old the women were, but they both appeared youngish, with looks of confidence on their faces.

The merchant walked over to the girls who stood close to Pol.

“Why don’t you hold a contest at our village?” one of the girls said.

“I used to, but your brother always won. I tried to keep him out, but the village chief told me if I held the games, I’d have to let him compete,” the merchant said.

Both of the women laughed. “So it’s our turn?”

The merchant nodded. “If you beat the others, but only one of you can prevail. I can’t give two knives to two sisters.”

Sisters, Pol thought. He wondered what kind of warrior their brother might be to win all the contests. Like him? Maybe he could find out something about his knife throwing that might indicate his origins.

The next round forced Pol to use his new-found skill. The two men quickly showed they couldn’t keep up with Pol and the two women.  One of the sisters hit a knot in the wood, and the knife wobbled and fell off the board.  That gave the opening for Pol and the other sister to claim a position in the last round.

“You are good,” the sister said. “Who let a Shinkyan in here?” she said rather loudly. “And you stink besides,” she said even louder.

“I’m sorry. I’m an apprentice to the tanner.”

“Someone who stinks worse than my brother,” said one sister. The other laughed.

“What does your brother do?” Pol asked.

“He is a blacksmith, trying to make arms.”

“Loga’s better at using them than making them,” the other sister said, joining in.

Pol didn’t know how to reply. They spoke so fast that Pol didn’t quite get it all. He would have to persuade Doara to speak more quickly.

The merchant clapped his hands. “Time for the final round.”  He flipped the board over to reveal a set of smaller targets. “One pace farther,” he said as he moved the stand back.

Pol’s opponent groaned.

“Too far?” Pol asked.

She remained silent and stood squinting at the target, making motions to throw with nothing in her hand.

“You should do that with your knife in your hand, so you don’t forget the balance,” Pol said. It seemed logical to him. He smiled as he exercised some memories that hadn’t vanished.

“I don’t need your help, tanner,” she said. Her mood had turned sour.

Pol shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Ladies first?” the merchant said,

The sister shook her head and nodded towards Pol.

“I think she is giving you the first throw.”

Pol thanked the sister and threw at the target the merchant had pointed out. His knife went into the center.  The sister used a different target, and hers was a bit off. After three throws, Pol was clearly the winner.

“Thank you for the competition,” Pol said.

The woman growled. Her sister smiled through it all. “Weya isn’t used to losing, except to Loga, our brother. I suppose we should see who is better, you or our brother. You should come to our village sometime and have a friendly match.”

Pol looked at the silent sister. “I was hoping this could be a friendly match.”

The disgruntled sister turned on her heel and stalked off. “She’ll get over it. I’m Toira, by the way.” She extended her hand.

Pol looked at it. “I’m sorry. I lost my memories in a shipwreck and don’t have any social skills. Do I shake your hand or grip it?”

“Shake it,” Toira said, grinning. “You are a strange person.” She looked at Weya walking away. “She won’t stop until we get to our village. I’m serious about visiting us. Just wear, uh, different clothes.”

Pol smiled back. “I will in a few weeks.”

Toira waved as she left. The merchant walked up with Pol’s new knife in a leather sheath.

“You have an excellent eye for knives and sharp edges. Those two sisters are something else.”

“What about their brother?”

“Loga?  He is too sharp for his good in a different way. He is too competent at all he does. He works hard to do that, and most villagers don’t.  It may be different in Kitanga, our capital, but we don’t like people coming here to show everyone else up.”

Pol looked at the merchant. “Is that what I just did?”

The merchant raised a corner of his mouth. “Maybe.”

~~~

Chapter Two

~

Shira

~

S hira stared at the message from the Elder of the Fearless Faction. Pol had gone missing along with his two Imperial associates. She crumpled up the paper and threw it onto the brazier that did little to warm her mood.

He wouldn’t have left voluntarily without letting her know. She looked up at Maruko, her half-sister. “Do you believe this?”

“We have to, Shira. He’s gone along with the others. Ako verified it. Some of their possessions were missing.”

“What happened to the belongings they left behind?”

Shira’s half-sister shrugged.

“I’ll see Ako myself.”

“Mother has commanded all Crown Princesses to stay within the Castle compound.”

Shira ground her teeth. Her mother had to be behind Pol’s departure. She remembered her ranting and raving after Pol’s last visit.

“Then bring Ako here, and if it is possible, I want to see their belongings.”

Shira looked at the Daeran carving of a black horse and tried to staunch the tears that so desperately wanted to fall. She sobbed and picked the figurine up. Pol had given it to her to remember him when he returned to Yastan, the Baccusol Imperial capital.

“I hope they are safe,” she said to the empty room.

~

Ako walked in with Maruko carrying a few bags.  Ako Injira was a Shinkyan Sister, a spy who monitored actions in the Empire. Shira had trained as a Sister and met Pol on an assignment when Pol wasn’t yet sixteen.

“This is it,” she said. “Nothing else remained.”

Shira helped them spread the belongings on the floor.

“A hasty exit,” Ako said. “Pol took his mementos, but the others didn’t.” Ako picked up a pink necklace and let half a smile decorate her face. “Fadden thought he bought this when I wasn’t looking. He wouldn’t have left this behind, but Pol’s animal carvings are all gone. He left his hat and no wonder. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Paki’s gifts to girls are still here, and this he was to give to his mother. Look at all the weapons Pol and Fadden left behind.”

“Paki and Fadden were kidnapped? Where were you?” Shira said, kneeling on the floor amidst the piles of belongings.

Ako blinked a few times. “I was lured out of the compound. The pattern suggests that Pol went after them. It looks like he didn’t intend on returning, but everything points to a hasty departure. Demeron disappeared, but Fadden and Paki’s horses remained. Perhaps they were threatened.”

Shira looked at Maruko. “Did you hear anything about a kidnapping or an attack on Pol?”

Maruko bit her lip. “You can’t tell anyone. I will be put to death if Mother finds out.”

“Spill it,” Shira said.

“She instructed all the factions to kill Pol on sight. If his friends were caught in Tishiko, they could be killed without consequences.”

“Consequences? He’s the Emperor’s heir. Do you think Hazett would sit on his hands and do nothing?”

“Mother said the Emperor would dismiss it as a test that Pol had failed.”

Ako whistled. “That’s some failure. The Queen has gone too far.”

“Not if the Emperor doesn’t find out,” Shira said.

Ako clamped her lips shut. Shira knew what that meant, and she had to agree with her. The Emperor would eventually find out, but not until Shira learned more.

She looked up at Ako. “The Scorpions?”

“We need to speak to Karo Nagoya,” Shira said. If anyone knows what happened, Nagoya does. It wouldn’t be appropriate for Shira to summon the Scorpion Elder.

~

It took a day before Ako returned to Shira’s rooms in the Royal Pagoda.

“Karo has disappeared,” Ako said. “No one knows where he went, but they think he might be visiting relatives to the south.

“Have they confined the three Imperials in the south?” Maruko said.

“Pol wouldn’t be confined. Not if he was conscious. I am sure he shielded himself against any spells the Scorpions could throw at him.”

“If he were free, you would have received some message. Even if it were another black horse, Pol would have found a way,” Ako said.

“Or Fadden.”

Ako nodded with her eyes welling. “Or Fadden.”

A servant knocked on Shira’s door. “The Queen requests your attendance.”

Shira changed into something suitable for an audience and appeared at the door to her Mother’s study.  The door opened, and Elder Furima huffed past her.

Shira entered as her mother shooed her secretary out the door. She never understood why her mother had the woman leave. Her mother forgot half the time that the woman was present. If anyone knew the secrets to Shinkya, it had to be that secretary.

“Where is he?” Queen Anira said.

“Who, Pol?” Shira’s heart beat faster. At least her mother’s orders hadn’t been carried out.

“Yes, Pol Cissert Pastelle and his two Imperial henchmen! I have lost face among the factions. I issue an order—” The Queen stopped in mid-sentence.

“An order to have him killed? Is that what you were going to say?” Shira said.

Her mother glared. “He was a danger to Shinkya. He pranced around here as if he were the Great Ancestor. Worst of all, he wanted to marry you. A human!”

“No, a Demron,” Shira said. “I was there, and you weren’t. He opened the door to the cave. Even after his half-sister failed. He communed with a Demron spirit, yet you sit there claiming to be the Queen of Shinkya after you attempted to kill him. That violently goes against ancient Shinkyan tradition. You did make the attempt, and your murderers failed. That makes you as guilty as they are. You can call it heresy or sacrilege, but whatever it is, you committed it.”

“Get out!”

Shira lifted her chin. “Gladly.” She turned around and left. She stomped up to her rooms and slammed the door along the sliding rails, shaking the wall.

Shira stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched trying to calm herself. She couldn’t believe her mother to be capable of such an evil act. Yes, evil, Shira thought. Pol could very well be the Great Ancestor. Shira tried to discount it, but if he still lived, he would surely return.

She sat on the low couch and clutched a pillow to her stomach. If her mother could so thoroughly betray her, then Shira didn’t have to behave like a princess, especially in her rooms.

She leaned forward and began to cry. Her eyes immediately overflowed with tears. She sobbed and sobbed, not caring if anyone heard her wailing. Pol had been lured away, but not killed. If he were, the faction responsible would have been crowing about it, at least to her mother. She took the little black horse and clutched it as she continued to sob.

She lost track of time, but she finally took a deep breath. She felt a little better. She put the horse on the table in front of her and sat back. What could she do?

Shira never trusted Barian, the Imperial ambassador. His wife had too much influence over her husband. They would have known about the Queen’s order and would support Pol’s death.

If she knew a bird would reliably fly to Yastan, she would alert the Emperor to Pol’s plight. But what could Hazett do? Her mother was right. The Emperor wouldn’t go to war over Pol’s loss, not with Grostin building up a new army and becoming a fresh threat to the Empire.

She worried about Queen Isa and hoped that she hadn’t succumbed to Wibon’s tricks.

Shira felt like she had no room to move, with no ability to fight back. As she rolled the problems around in her mind, she realized that she was in the wrong place.

Her mother had her sequestered in the royal compound, and that would not do. She would have to escape, and Shira could rely on Ako to help her. They could flee to the countryside and head over the mountains past Tesna to Covial and take refuge there. Perhaps Shira could help Queen Isa defend her borders against Grostin.

She could do that while Ako tried to find out what happened to Pol. He had to be alive. She felt that he was alive, but then Shira wondered if her emotions had generated such a feeling. She wiped her face with her hands. At least her crying had enabled her to refocus her mind.

Shira no longer felt bound to her mother or to Shinkya, for that matter. The ruling class of Shinkya had sought to kill the Great Ancestor. She smiled. For so long she had scoffed at the possibility. Now she clung to it. If Pol were the Great Ancestor, he definitely would return, and the question wasn’t if, but when.

She took a cup of wine and drained it. Shira needed to talk to Ako. Perhaps both of them could steal some of Barian’s birds.

~

A few days later, Ako returned to Shira’s quarters. “Something happened within the Scorpion faction. Karo Nagoya is still gone, but a carriage returned to their compound after it was driven directly to a western port, perhaps carrying Pol, Fadden, and Paki.”

"All the more reason to notify the Emperor,” Shira said. “I’ve been thinking. We need to send birds to Yastan and notify the Emperor what has happened. If the three of them have been shipped back to Deftnis, I want to know.”

“We want to know,” Ako said. “Barian impresses the birds with a spell to fly to Yastan. He does it just before they go. I did the same thing in Alsador when I was a sister.”

“Could you send a bird off?”

“To Deftnis?” Ako thought for a moment. “I think I could. I visited the monk’s coop with Fadden one day. Should we send them a message directly?”

Shira nodded. “We’ll steal a few birds and send them off. Tonight we will walk the compound. Can you get the notes prepared? I’ve never written a note for a bird.”

Ako nodded. “I’ve done it plenty of times.”

~

Shira met Ako on the other side of the main pagoda. They both spelled camouflage and carefully walked the paths to the Ambassador’s quarters. The gates were open, as they usually were, so they walked right in. Shira detected no wards to interrupt their progress.

They found the birds, and in a few moments, Ako had impressed them, put on the messages, and both of them watched five birds fly off into the night.

They turned around and headed towards the pagoda complex again. Once inside Shira and Ako ended the spells and proceeded to Shira’s quarters.

Shira opened the door to find the Queen standing with Elder Furima and ten guards. They barely fit into her quarters. Pol and his friends’ possessions were strewn all over her floors.

“What is the meaning of this?” Queen Anira said. Her eyes narrowed. “Where have you been?”

Shira looked at Ako. “We went for a walk around the compound. The night is warm, and I needed to get out to think. You told me to take an escort when I leave my rooms.”

The Queen eyed Ako.

“She is one of yours?”

Elder Furima nodded. “A troublesome wench. She needs to learn some manners.”

“I quite agree,” the Queen said. “Take her and deal with her harshly.”

“NO!” Shira said. “She is my companion, and I will not allow you to punish her.”

“You dare defy the Queen?” Furima said.

“You dare attempt to kill the Great Ancestor? Who are you to tell me about daring?” Shira said.

Elder Furima’s hands went to her face. “Great Ancestor? He was only fooling us with his hair disguise.”

“No, he wasn’t. I have known Pol for over a year. I’ve been over this with my mother. If anyone is the Great Ancestor, it is Pol. What makes you all so blind? Greed? Power?”

“She is deranged,” Queen Anira said. “She doesn’t know what she says.”

Elder Furima’s composure broke down. “Oh! What should we do?”

“Nothing.” The Queen stared at Shira. “Take both of them to the dungeons.”

“Yes, My Queen,” one of the guards said.

Shira snatched the black horse and shoved it in her pocket before she left the room. Shira could use her power to break free, but where would she go? She needed time to think. With Ako, she had the confidence in their ability to break out of the castle. She just needed to time it correctly.

~~~

Chapter Three

~

Pol

~

A fter finding Doara, who had apparently made herself busy by gossiping, Pol showed her his new knife. She was impressed.

“You beat the blacksmith sisters? I saw them over there and thought they would run away with the prize.”

Pol shrugged. “I suppose I threw knives pretty good in my former life, whatever that was,” he said. “They invited me to visit.”

Doara grinned and then laughed. “I would take them up on it. They are the handsomest girls around. You didn’t notice?”

Pol blushed. “I guess I didn’t.” But maybe he did if he thought about it a bit.

“You take this knife,” Doara said giving Pol the naked Shinkyan blade. “I’ve had it in my packages long enough. I don’t want it cutting anything.”

“It needs more sharpening for that,” Pol said. He smiled as he remembered how to sharpen knives. There was another way that he had used before, but Pol couldn’t remember it.

Pol stashed his new clothes in the little shack after Doara had changed. As they walked into the tannery, the stench reminded Pol where he was.

~

Pol made a sheath out of some scrap leather that Bingi had laying around. There were lots of leather scraps kept in burlap bags in the storage shack. The tanner taught Pol how to change leather’s looks through natural dyes that he used and oil.

“There is a another method to toughen up leather, but it is more of an art,” Bingi said while he watched Pol curry tanned hides. “You can boil leather to make it tougher. Along with the toughness, it becomes stiffer, so you can’t work it. Heat it up too much, and it becomes brittle. That happens when you leave it in the boiling water for too long. Then it can just crumble.” Bingi spat on the ground. “Too much trouble, so I just usually smoke the leather that I make for shoe soles and saddle leather. Smoking gives you the added benefit of being a bit more waterproof.”

“Can you give me some tips? I might try messing around with it,” Pol said.

“Sure,” Bingi said.

It had been three weeks since he had met the blacksmith sisters.  The shacks showed off the brightness of fresh whitewash. Pol’s shack and Bingi’s had been painted inside, as well.

“I’m going to let you take some leather samples to Homoi village. Those blacksmith sisters that Doara told me about live there. You might make friends with their brother. He makes weapons, and that means he might be a source for sheaths and belting leather.”

“Why don’t you go?” Pol asked.

“I let people come to me with their needs, but Doara said you had an invitation.”

Pol wondered if the invitation was real, but it wouldn’t hurt to give Demeron some exercise. “I’d like that,” Pol said.

Demeron had been a steady worker when he and Pol picked up hides and when they loaded up Bingi’s second-hand cart with bark north of the village. Homoi was south of his village.

Doara gave Pol a waterskin and a leather satchel of food. He stuffed leather samples in his saddlebags and headed south. He took a towel and washed himself in the little pond that was a hundred paces from the roadside shack and changed into his fresh clothes that Doara had bought him. He had worn them only once on another trip to the market.

Demeron pranced through town. People never ceased to stare at the horse when Pol took him into the village hitched to the cart, but the last time he rode Demeron in the village was when he arrived that first time.

Pol waved to a few children. Once he left the outskirts of the village, Pol let Demeron run, and run he did. The horse was incredibly fast, and it was all Pol could do to hang on. But even then Pol grinned at Demeron’s power and speed.

They reached the village an hour sooner than he had intended. Demeron showed high spirits as he rode into the center of a village that looked much the same as his own.

Pol asked for directions to the blacksmith’s. He headed west towards the end of the village. Homoi was larger than his home village. Pol smelled sintered metal and found the source of the smell but realized there were two blacksmith shops next to each other. One for Loga and one for his father?

He dismounted at a hitching post with a water trough and patted Demeron.

“Thanks for the ride,” Pol said.

Demeron neighed and lifted his head before he nuzzled Pol.

A burly man came out of one of the shops to greet Pol. “That horse sure likes you.”

Pol grinned. “And I like him. I’m looking for Weya or Toira.”

“A suitor?”

Pol could feel his face redden. “No. I think I’m too young for that. I met them both at a knife-throwing contest.”

“The tanner?”

Pol was surprised the man knew. He nodded. “That’s me.”

“Weya was so angry she wouldn’t speak for a week. I suppose they invited you over to meet Loga?”

“He runs the other shop?”

The man nodded. “I’m the father, and he is my son. You are?”

“Pol.”

“I am Komagi. They are all out, but if you work my bellows for a bit, we can talk.”

The man seemed friendly enough, so Pol shrugged and followed him into his shop. The blacksmith showed Pol a large bellows.

It’s big enough that you won’t work up much of a sweat. Just pump when I tell you.”

Pol nodded.

“You look Shinkyan,” the blacksmith said.

“That’s what I’m told. I lost my memories in a shipwreck three months ago. Demeron saved me.”

“Who?”

“The horse. His name is Demeron.”

Komagi pounded a bit and stopped. “That’s not a Shinkyan name, nor is it Kirian. Pol isn’t either.”

Pol shrugged. “I guess I’m a bundle of mysteries. I learned how to throw knives before I lost my memories. It came back to me as I threw.”

“It came back with a vengeance. Toira couldn’t stop talking about it. You impressed her and Weya, once she got over her defeat.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass her,” Pol said.

“You’re well-mannered for a tanner’s apprentice.”

Pol smiled. “I don’t know where I got my manners. Bingi’s wife says the same thing.”

The blacksmith nodded to Pol to begin pumping. He shoved his work back into the forge.

“Bingi. I can’t call him a scoundrel, but he works to suit himself.”

“I brought some samples with me. I can show them to you.”

A man entered the shop yard. “Who owns the Shinkyan horse?” He dressed well, a man of influence in the village.

“He is mine,” Pol said.

“Will your father sell him? I’ve only seen a few and those were Lords’ horses in Kitanga.”

Pol shook his head. “I don’t have a father. The horse is all I have.”

“Are you a magician? I never heard of a male Shinkyan with enough power to bond with a Shinkyan horse.”

“A magician?” Pol said. He couldn’t remember what a magician was. “What is that?”

“A person who works magic. Like a village shaman.”

“Oh,” Pol said. He didn’t understand. He’d have to have a conversation with Naori, his village’s shaman. Maybe on the way back.

“Do you know this young man, Komagi?”

“He’s a friend of my daughters, Chief.”

“Come outside and prove to me you’re bonded.”

Pol didn’t know how to do that, but he walked outside. Demeron understood his Shinkyan commands, so he would just hope the horse would obey.

“He’s not even tied up,” the Chief said.

“Demeron won’t go anywhere.” Pol stepped across the lane.  “Demeron, come over here.”

The horse did as Pol asked.

“Up on your rear legs. Now turn around and count to five using your hoofs.”

The Chief’s eyes grew large, and he rubbed his forehead. “That’s a first for me. I heard Shinkyans followed commands, but this…”

“Do you believe me now?”

“Turn around, Demeron,” Komagi said.

Demeron stayed where he was.

“Come to me,” the Chief said, but the horse ignored the command. He shook his head. “He’s yours all right. Keep good care of him.”

Pol nodded.

“What are you here for?” the Chief said.

“I’m the tanner’s apprentice and have some leather samples. Bingi can do more business with me around, I guess. He sent me here to talk to Loga to see if he needed leather for belts and sheaths.”

“That’s for Loga. But I might use some strapping if the prices are right,” Komagi said.

Pol hadn’t been instructed what to ask, just to show. “You’ll have to give me the price you want. Bingi—”

“Didn’t tell you what price to ask? That’s typical. I’ve known Bingi for a long time, but he’s never done much business with local villages. He prefers to work for a factor in Kitanga, so he doesn’t have to worry about selling his leather,” Komagi said. “Show me the samples. I’ll bet I’m willing to buy at better prices than the thieves in Kitanga.”

“I’ll be on my way,” the Chief said.

Pol made sure he tied his horse to the post. “Just for show, Demeron.”

The horse nodded with understanding.

“Let’s go back in,” Komagi said. “I am even more impressed. You’re a lad full of mystery. No wonder Toira wants to know you better. You’re too young for her, more Weya’s age, I imagine.”

Pol could feel the heat of embarrassment again. He began pumping while Komagi checked on his piece. He pulled it out and pounded it. This time he quenched it and laid it aside.

“That’s enough. I’ll finish it off tomorrow. Why don’t we go inside and have a drink.”

Pol felt awkward going into the house of the siblings without re-introducing himself to them, but he liked Komagi and followed him in.

“Water is best,” Komagi said. “We filter it through a charcoal bed. It takes out many impurities.”

Pol had never heard that.

“Something my grandfather discovered.”

Pol drank the water. It certainly tasted different. He had the glimmer of a memory about the danger of drinking raw water. He tried to remember more, but couldn’t.

“A memory?”

Pol nodded. “I don’t get specific memories, but it’s like I can remember so far, and then there is nothing.”

“Minds do funny things. It’s true enough. So are you going to be a tanner your whole life?”

“I haven’t thought very far ahead. I like to work, but there is a lot I don’t know or haven’t remembered. I didn’t know I could throw a knife until I tried.”

Komagi nodded. “That is a nice sheath at your waist.”

“I made that. It fits an old knife that I bought.”

“Can I see it? I can tell you if it is good steel or not. I can’t forge weapons any better than Loga.”

Pol unbuckled the sheath and handed it over to the blacksmith.

“A Shinkyan blade, well-worn, but there is still life in it. You chose this?”

“It had the best balance of the knives of similar size that the cutlery merchant sold.”

Komagi handled the blade like he knew what he was doing. “Excellent. Shinkyans make the best steel. I wish I knew the secret.”

“It has to do with layers and folding,” Pol said. He raised his eyebrows and put his hand to his mouth.

“A new memory?”

Pol nodded. “Something to do with carbon layering. Hundreds or thousands of folds.” Pol looked at his blade. “You can see some of the layering.” He handed it to Komagi.

“I see. I’ve never really looked that closely at a Shinkyan weapon. I knew what it was from its shape. Interesting.”

Pol nodded. “I’m afraid that’s all I know. I don’t think I can make one at a forge.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

Komagi turned towards the front of the shack when Pol heard footsteps.

The two sisters, dressed more like conventional females, entered the back room.

“The tanner?” Weya said, making a face that Pol couldn’t read. “You never did tell us your name.”

“Pol.”

Toira grinned. “I was wondering if you’d ever find us. Welcome. I see you’ve met Father.”

Pol nodded. “I have.”

“He’s a mysterious man,” Toira said.

“For once I’ll actually agree with you. The boy wears a Shinkyan blade and rides a Shinkyan horse, but for some reason, I don’t think your friend is Shinkyan.”

“I’m not?” Pol said.

“Shinkyans are inherently arrogant. It’s in their makeup. You are friendly and open. I’ve never known a Shinkyan like that.”

“When did you ever meet a Shinkyan?” Weya said.

“I haven’t lived my whole life in this village. I’ve spent enough time in Kitanga, remember? There are enough Shinkyans there.”

“But what about the Shinkyan horse?” a voice said from behind.

Pol turned and saw a young man, out of the youth stage. He was well-built, so Pol took him to be Loga.

“Loga!” Komagi raised his hand. “Come sit with us. Toira invited this boy to visit.”

The girls sat along with Loga. Pol felt a great deal of discomfort sitting with this family.

“Go on, tell them your story. There isn’t much to tell, right?” Komagi said.

Pol gave them a detailed-enough account of what he knew.

“You expect us to believe that?” Loga said. “You just appear with a Shinkyan horse. You pick a Shinkyan blade, and you look like a Shinkyan, yet you aren’t?” He looked at his father.

“It looks odd, but that’s how I feel,” Komagi said. “The Soagi shaman couldn’t find out anything. I assume that is true, Pol?”

Pol nodded. He felt like he was being interrogated. “I don’t know anything more than you do, but I do remember how to do things when I do them.”

“Like knife throwing,” Weya said. “I saw that first-hand.”

Pol had to ask her the meaning of a few words, but he nodded.

“He knows how Shinkyans make their swords,” Komagi said. “He remembered right when I talked to him.”

“You do?” Loga said.

“I can’t forge a sword, but I know it takes a lot of folds and each fold has some carbon separating it somehow.” Pol shook his head. He tried to remember more, but couldn’t.

Loga looked at his father with lights in his eyes. “That gives us some new avenues to explore.”

“It does, but don’t get your hopes up. Folding is only part of it.”

Loga sighed. “You’re right. We’ll have to travel to Shinkya to find out.”

Pol pulled his Shinkyan knife out. “Look at this.”

“That is real?”

Pol shrugged. “How would I know? But your father was impressed with it.”

Loga grinned. “It’s real?”

Komagi nodded. “It is as far as I can tell. The surface of the blade could have been made to look like that with many folds with fine grains of carbon spread on each fold. That would be my guess.”

Loga nodded.

“What did you want to do while Pol visited?” Komagi asked Toira.

She shrugged. “I wanted to see Pol throw knives some more. He is the best out of everyone in this room, even if he is the youngest.”

“How old are you?” Weya asked.

Pol couldn’t tell if she was angry or not. Every word seemed to come out laced with venom. “I don’t know. Sixteen? Seventeen?” He shrugged.

“I’m seventeen, and you look younger than me,” Weya said.

“What if he’s eighteen?” Toira tapped her sister’s shoulder.

“Look at his face. He can hardly grow a beard.”

“Shinkyan males don’t have much facial hair,” the blacksmith said. “But I’d have to agree.” He patted Pol on the head. “I think you are exactly right, an old sixteen or a young seventeen.” He shook his head. “Of course, we could all be wrong.”

“We could ask Demeron,” Pol said.

“Who’s Demeron?” Toira looked at Weya and then at Pol.

“My horse.”

Pol got up and walked out to the hitching post. Everyone followed. Demeron moved closer to Pol. “Do you know how old I am?”

Demeron nodded his head and stepped back just a bit while he wrote ’17’ on the dirt.

“What’s that?” Weya said.

“Do it in Shinkyan,” Pol said. He looked at the others. “Evidently I know another language other than Shinkyan, but I can’t figure out what language it is.”

Demeron wrote the characters for seventeen in Shinkyan.

“Those are the right Shinkyan characters. I learned Shinkyan numbers up to fifty when I was a young boy, and my father wanted me to take up trading. I forgot all of the language lessons, but I still remember the numbers.”

“Why didn’t you continue trading?” Pol asked.

Komagi’s expression turned dark. “It’s best left unsaid. Kitanga doesn’t have the same culture as the villages.”

“Blacksmithing is a more honest trade,” Loga said.

“Enough said.” The blacksmith turned back to Pol. “So consider yourself seventeen.”

“Good enough for me,” Pol said.

“Now that my daughters are here, let’s see how well you toss a knife,” Loga said. “Let’s go to my shop.”

Pol shrugged, but he was happy the focus turned away from him. He patted Demeron on his flank. “Thanks. I never thought to ask until now.”

He watched the others walk to the other yard. “Where am I from?” he asked, not quite wanting the answer.

‘E-M-P-I-R-E’ Demeron spelled.

“Empire. I don’t even know what that is. I’ll ask Doara when we get back.”

Pol walked with a lighter step. He was from the Empire, wherever that was. It certainly wasn’t in Kiria.

The siblings had already set up targets along a wooden fence. Loga emerged from his work shack with a barrel filled with knives.

“All of these have good balance,” Loga said. “I made most of them.”

Pol picked one up and could feel that it was a good throwing knife. “Seems good to me.”

“Okay. We start here and then move back,” Weya said. “Those boards don’t have knots, so you won’t defeat me this time.” She snorted and collected a handful of knives.  “One at each target,” she said. Her throwing was fluid and accurate. She only missed the center of two of the targets.

Toira threw hers. Weya was the better thrower, Pol thought. She seemed to have an edge in concentration over her older sister.

Loga improved on Weya’s throws hitting the center on each of the targets. “Now your turn. Impress me,” the younger blacksmith said.

Pol shut everything out and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, knowing that he added something to his throws before, but he couldn’t remember what. He opened his eyes and matched Loga’s throws.

Komagi snorted and clapped his hands. “I didn’t think anyone could match my son. You have learned well.”

Pol smiled with relief. No matter what happened now, he felt he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

“Back three paces,” Weya said. “It’s between Loga and Pol.”

Pol went first and purposely threw his last throw just outside the circle.

“Left me an opening?”

Pol gave the older young man a half smile. “If you can take advantage of it.”

Loga did and won the impromptu match. “No one has approached me in the village,” he said. “You are a worthy friend.”

Komagi nodded. “Can you stay long enough to share a meal with us?”

Pol shook his head. “I don’t think so. I need to show Loga my samples.”

Loga put his arm around Pol’s shoulders. “You can show me over a quick meal.”

That made Pol smile. “As long as it’s business.”

“Indeed it is.”

~~~~

Chapter Four

~

Shira

~

S hira’s cell had comfortable furniture, but it was still a cell. She stared and stared at the lock, hoping to find a way to see inside so she could tweak it open. How did Pol do it?

She rose and paced the carpeted floor. It barely padded the hard concrete. She sat on a couch with cupped hands holding her chin.

A scratching at the door caught her attention.

“Princess Shira,” a voice said barely above a whisper.

After rising, Shira straightened her tunic and walked to the bars. Shira suppressed a grunt of surprise when she identified the face of her mother’s secretary.

“What does my mother want this time?” Shira said.

The woman shrugged. “I’m not here representing the Queen. I have a few facts to relate to you, since the Queen refuses to communicate with her daughter.”

Shira looked at the woman and couldn’t figure out why she came to visit the dungeon. Shira had barely said a full sentence to the woman during her entire life.

“You have a captive audience,” Shira said, unable to keep from smiling at her remark.

The woman returned a flash of a smile. “You are no longer a Crown Princess. Queen Anira made it official this afternoon.”

“That has advantages and disadvantages,” Shira said.

“Indeed. It has advantages if you have sponsors and factions behind you.”

Shira dropped her hands from the bars. “I don’t have anyone. Ako is a Fearless, but Elder Furima is my mother’s tool.”

“Indeed she is,” the woman said. “I am an agent for the Bureaucracy. Think of us as a guild more than a faction. We have varied interests among our group, but we think the Queen has overstepped her bounds in regards to the Imperial Prince.”

“I thought you were against the idea of a Great Ancestor.”

“That is an item of varied opinion,” the woman smiled. “I was quite taken by your boyfriend, actually. I can see why you like him.”

Shira rolled her eyes. “Please.”

The woman cleared her throat. “The Scorpions were behind Pol Pastelle’s disappearance.”

“I already know that. I just don’t know where Pol went.”

“Neither do we. His two escorts are already on a ship heading towards the Empire. Pol Pastelle disappeared, but we feel it is unlikely he is dead. The Scorpions are a devout group when it comes to the Ancestors. We think they preserved him, but we don’t know where the Imperial Prince is.”

“Can you get me out of here?” Shira asked.

“Your friend Ako is still working on that. We must maintain a very, very low profile. I risk much coming down to see you. When you manage to escape, we will contact you.”

The woman bowed and left Shira looking at the blank wall across from her cell. Shira didn’t know what to think. Her mother’s secretary did tell her one thing that gave her hope. Ako was free and working on her release.

~

Shira kept track of the days by the delivered meals. She estimated she had spent eight days in the dungeon when her mother called to her from the cell door.

“If you think my appearance is going to get you released, think again,” Queen Anira said. “I wanted to tell you that you are no longer a Crown Princess. You’ll have no special privileges.”

“I call my incarceration a special privilege, so you can let me out of here.”

“When you learn to sing, my dear. That’s when you’ll get released.” Her mother gave her an evil grin. “I do mean sing with that awful voice of yours.”

Shira had never met her mother’s expectations. Well-bred ladies knew how to play court instruments and sing. Shira always showed herself to be inept at both, but she made no secret that she excelled at magic.

She could cause a stir in the dungeons with her abilities, but there were too many guards between her cell and freedom.

“I might surprise you.”

“You have proven adept at that. I want you to reflect on your shortcomings for a bit longer. I’ll bring a court lady down to give you singing lessons. Your sister Maruko learned to sing adequately as she got older. She used to be as bad as you.”

The queen swirled her silk dress as she turned and swept away out of sight.

Shira thought her mother implied that she would never release her, but maybe she was serious about the singing. Was that her way of demanding Shira humble herself first? She smiled. She knew how to sing well enough, but refused to show her mother that she could.

Shira felt that if she suddenly sprang into a lilting melody, she would be left to wither in prison, and that wasn’t where Shira wanted to be. She wanted to find Pol and escape to South Salvan. The dream became more of a reality when her mother removed her as a Crown Princess. She rubbed the black horse and wondered what she could do to advance her dream while sitting in her cell.

~

The secretary showed up on the tenth day. “My name is Lini. You will use it as a password if anyone asks you. I have convinced your mother to demand that you sing for her. Don’t hesitate to do so. Ako will direct you to your next destination. Be prepared.

The next day Anira arrived with a court lady who Shira had never seen before. The woman brought a lap harp.

“If you sing, I will let you go. I’m tired of even thinking of coming down here again.”

Shira nodded. “I will sing.” She thought that she’d nearly do anything to get released, but her mother wasn’t a person to antagonize if you needed something from her.

The lady played a familiar Shinkyan country tune, and Shira let her voice go.

After Shira’s performance, the Queen stared at her. “You’ve evidently kept a talent hidden from me.”

One of many, Shira said to herself.

“You will spend another night here for your insolence,” the Queen said before she hurried off, the court lady clinging to her instrument as she shuffled to keep up with the Queen’s abrupt departure.

Shira sat back and smiled. That wasn’t so bad, she thought. Tomorrow I will see the sun again.

~

Ako showed up along with the midday meal, lugging a big bag.

“I am sure that Fadden and Paki reached Deftnis by now. That means they are safe.”

Shira nodded. “No word on Pol?”

Ako shook her head. “We will stay the night at an inn between two faction compounds. I can’t trust the Fearless as long as Elder Furima rules the roost. Be on your guard. Now that you are no longer a Crown Princess, you are exposed.”

“I doubt that Mother wants me killed. If she wanted to do that, she would have found a discreet way to do it down here,” Shira said.

“The factions still vie for favor. Your mother doesn’t need to give a direct order to have them attack you. She used the same technique against Pol.”

“You think she wants me killed?”

Ako poked her tongue in her cheek while she thought for a bit. She shook her head. “No, but someone like Furima would take the Queen’s silence as tacit approval.”

The political machinations were different when applied to someone else, Shira concluded. The situation rattled Shira more than she thought it would. She thought of Pol, and his attitude always seemed to take everything in stride and let it become a learning experience. Shira faced a lot of learning in the future. She vowed she wouldn’t sit idly waiting for Pol to return. He wouldn’t return to a lady-in-waiting, but an improved Shira.

“Eat your fill,” Ako said. “I took what I thought you would need from your rooms.” She dumped the bag on the floor. “Take what you want to keep and leave the rest. I assume you have money stashed among all this?”

Shira grinned. “I do.”

She pulled coins out of every conceivable hiding place until a sizable pile of Shinkyan coinage lay on the bed.

“I need my papers, weapons, a few changes of clothes, and Amble.” Shira spent a few minutes casting aside clothes, shoes, and court costumes. “I’m taking what I had with me when we entered Tishiko, except for this.” Shira showed the little black horse to Ako.

“We can leave your clothes and be out of here in a few moments. I’ve already moved our horses out of the compound. What weapons are you going to take?”

Shira picked out her Shinkyan sword and long knife, as well as a few other knives that she could hide. She took her dress off and dressed like a Sister.

“It’s time.”

“You forgot about your papers,” Ako said as she untied the leather paper cover and showed Shira that someone had removed the papers she bought when she first entered Shinkya.

Shira’s eyes grew. “You didn’t find them?”

Ako shook her head, but then smiled and pulled a new leather paper cover from inside her vest and gave them to Shira. “We both have new papers and new identities: fictitious Sisters, in addition to your noble set courtesy of Lini, your mother’s secretary. She is a busy little lady.”

~

Now disguised, Shira and Ako walked briskly out of the Palace compound and into the city. They wore their hair in styles uncharacteristic for both of them. Ako carried the bag as they continued on their way to an inn not far from the palace.

Shira paused and looked up at the establishment where they would spend the night, her last night in Tishiko. She presented her new papers, and Ako did the same.

“We will be staying the night,” Shira said. “Our horses are already here?”

The innkeeper inspected their papers and checked notes on his register. “They are.”

Ako left Shira to retrieve her bags from the Fearless compound. Shira waited for another hour. Ako should have returned by now. She buckled on her weapons and placed a ward on the door.

Shira remembered which pagoda Pol had stayed in. She tweaked camouflage and moved quietly until she was alone. She removed the camouflage and walked through the compound. She had always been taught to walk confidently, and Shira did so now.

She looked up the central stairway leading up to the third floor where she had met Pol a few times. That brought an unexpected sigh.

Shira recognized Ako’s bags. A Sister descended from the floor above.

“Whose bags are these?” Shira asked.

The woman shrugged. “Maybe they are Ako Injira’s. She was called to Elder Fujima’s study.” The woman shuddered. “I am glad it’s not me. That woman needs to find another faction.”

“You won’t get an argument from me,” Shira said.

She waited for the woman to leave the building and hefted the bags, taking them down the stairway and hiding them behind a few bushes. She set a ward over them before she sought out Elder Furima’s study.

Shira walked into the administration building and walked past the Elder’s study. There weren’t any guards in front of the door, but then Elder Furima was a competent magician. The woman didn’t intimidate Shira. She knew she had elder-level magic, but she, like Pol, lacked experience.

Two women dressed as Grand Masters walked past.

“Do you know where Elder Furima is? I have a message for her,” Shira said, bowing deeply to the women.

“Are you new here?”

“I’ve been training in South Salvan and just arrived back.”

“She is in Pagoda Two, interrogating a sister.”

Shira bowed. “I appreciate your condescension.”

She left quickly and walked briskly to Pagoda Two, which was a short, squat thing. It showed its age, and Shira thought it quite ugly. There were guards at the entrance.

“I have a message for Elder Furima,” Shira said. “It’s from the Palace.”

“Oh,” one of the men said. “She is on level two with a prisoner. Be careful; she is very upset.”

Shira smiled. “Isn’t she always?”

The men nodded in agreement and parted to let her in. Shira looked around and spotted a wide stairway at the side of the pagoda. She walked right up the stairs and heard Elder Furima yelling down the hall.

The shouting didn’t surprise Shira. When she had seen Furima leave the Queen’s study, she always seemed to be angry.

Shira made sure of her shields and stepped into the room. Two Grand Masters restrained Ako with a spell that Shira had never seen. She moved to the wall and observed Elder Furima abuse Ako with her yelling. In Shira’s not inconsiderable experience marching with the Tesnan army and in her travels to Volia, no one had ever verbally abused another human being like Furima treated Ako.

“Elder, I have a message from the Royal family,” Shira said.

Furima turned to Shira. The woman’s red, sweaty face made Shira pause for a moment. Shira cleared her throat and moved towards the Elder. “For your ears only,” Shira said looking at the Grand Masters.

Shira moved close to Furima’s ear and spelled the woman to sleep. The Grand Masters would be familiar with the frozen spell.

“Elder!” Shira said as she held the Elder and laid her gently to the floor. “She has collapsed! The information must have shocked her!” Shira stepped back to let the Grand Masters check on the Elder. Shira put them to sleep, too.

Ako collapsed to the floor as if she lacked bones. “You shouldn’t have come,” Ako said.

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.” Shira helped Ako to her feet. “We are leaving now. What did they do to you?”

“I’ve never seen such a thing. Elder Furima called it a restraining spell. It kept me from using magic. It takes two Grand Masters to do such a thing. I think I could explain it to Pol, and he could pick it up.”

“Perhaps I can, as well,” Shira said.

Ako gave her a weary smile. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Can you manage a disguise?”

Ako nodded and turned into one of the Grand Masters. “She used to be a friend,” Ako said looking down at the woman.

Shira led her to Ako’s bags. They split up her things and walked out of the compound. They both changed their appearance again and walked down the street to their inn.

Lini sat in the lobby and looked their way before turning her head. Shira and Ako walked past and dropped Ako’s things into their room.

“Do you want to join me in the lobby?”

Ako shook her head. “I need to rest a bit.”

Shira slipped down the stairs and sat across from her mother’s secretary. She smiled. “Are you looking for me, Lini?”

The woman gave Shira a blank stare until it dawned on her who spoke to her. “Ah, I don’t know what to call you here.”

“Mora works.”

“That is closer to a Shinkyan last name.”

“It is Pol’s sister’s name. She lives in Teriland.”

Lini shook her head slightly.

“It’s the country where Shinkyans are from.”

“Oh. Teriland,” Lini said. “I didn’t know that’s what it was called. That is where—”

“It is,” Shira said. She made a face, hoping Lini would understand.

The woman blushed. “I understand. I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”

“How did you know we came here?”

“I am a bureaucrat. I just need to know who to ask. You registered using your new identities.”

Shira smiled. “Of course.”

“I want you to come with me,” Lini said. “I want you to talk to a group of us. It is important that they know of your intentions from you directly before you leave Tishiko.”

“Ako is upstairs resting.”

“Leave her a message at the front desk. I’ve already been away from your mother’s study for too long.”

Shira scribbled out a message about going out shopping with Lini and left the inn. Lini led her to the other side of an adjoining compound and into a paper shop. The woman said something to the shopkeeper before she took Shira’s hand and led her behind the curtain. They walked up a flight of stairs to an open room. Boxes were stacked along one wall, and the rest of the floor held a large table and chairs.

People met here. Shira thought of the pattern that Pol always talked about and decided this was a clandestine meeting place for the Bureaucracy. Lini showed Shira to a chair.

“The others will be here in a few moments,” Lini said.

They heard a few steps up the stairway. Shira made sure she had shields up. She had never heard of magicians among the Bureaucracy, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.

Two men walked up the stairs, and before they sat down, a third set of feet were heard getting closer to their floor.

Lini stood up and motioned for Shira to stand.

“You aren’t Princess Shira,” one of the men said.

Shira released her disguise. “Is this better?”

The men relaxed.

“It is. I forgot you were a Sister,” said the oldest man. “We don’t have much time—”

“I don’t either,” Shira said.

“We understand you are leaving Shinkya.”

“Perhaps for good,” Shira said.

The man leaned forward. “Don’t abdicate. Don’t agree to give up your right to the throne. We don’t seek to use you, but if you still have a claim, we might be able to support each other.”

“My mother has already abdicated for me,” Shira said, “I’m no longer the Crown Princes of Shinkya.”

The bureaucrat smiled. “The law is explicit she can’t remove you from the succession unless you agree to it. The title of Crown Princess is a ceremonial one and your not being one doesn’t change your right to your mother’s throne. We need a royal personage on our side.”

“Why do you think I’d be on your side?”

“We believe that Pol is the Great Ancestor. He still lives, you know. The Scorpions sent him to Daera. They wiped his memories.”

“What?” Shira said, sitting on the edge of her seat.

“He has a ward on his brain, and it must be removed by a high-level magician. It is reported that his horse knows this.”

“Where is he on Daera?”

“We don’t know. The  Scorpions disguised Pol before afflicting him with the ward. He doesn’t know names or locations, or so we’ve been told.”

“I’ll find him.” Shira wanted to jump to her feet.

“No,” Lini said. “Kiria is a dangerous place for a Shinkyan. You don’t know what he looks like, and he won’t recognize you. All we can do is wait. If he is the Great Ancestor, he will eventually surface. The Scorpions are convinced he will.”

“How dare they!” Shira said. “I, I—”

“You can’t do anything. You aren’t an adult yet, and neither is he. Find a place to be useful for a few years, out of Shinkya. We will work towards a change in our country. It is to our culture’s benefit that we prepare for Pol to return. If he returns too soon, Pol won’t be as effective.”

“We aren’t in crisis yet, are we?”

Lini smiled. “You are the perceptive person we thought you were. We plan in the long term. Shinkya has coasted along for centuries, but forces beyond our control are projected to overcome our complacence sometime within the next decade.”

“Pol will surely return before then,” Shira said.

“Not too soon. If Pol returns too quickly, our chances for survival decline,” the older bureaucrat said. “We have also determined it would be wiser for you to leave Shinkya now rather than spend time with the Scorpions.”

Shira nodded. “We agree completely on that. Ako and I have already decided to leave for South Salvan tomorrow.”

~~~

Chapter Five

~

Pol

~

“S o you enjoyed your jaunt to Homoi?” Doara said when Pol entered the tannery yard. She sat on the steps to her shack. Pol could hear Bingi’s snoring.

Pol nodded. “What is the Empire?”

“Empire? The Baccusol Empire?”

“I don’t know. Demeron said I was from the Empire. I’ll have to ask him if it’s the Baccusol one.”

“There is only one Empire that I know in all of Phairoon, and that is it,” Doara said. “Naori, the shaman, has been there once. You might talk to him about it.”

“I’ll do just that.”

Bingi had just received a large order and had Pol gathering more bark and heading west to the ranches for more hides. Pol didn’t have a chance to get back into the village for another five days. He found the shaman sitting on the steps to his shack idly shaking a rattle.

“The Shinkyan returns. How are you, Pol? Bingi is keeping you busy?”

Pol nodded. “Especially lately. I was wondering if you know anything about the Empire.”

Naori puffed up his chest. “I’ve been there once. When I was much younger, I traveled from Port Inirata all the way through Shinkya. They have a huge swamp at the northwest corner of Shinkya, so we slipped around and rode north to the first village. I wasn’t a shaman then, but they looked at me funny just the same. We couldn’t communicate worth a damn, and I came back.” The shaman laughed to himself. “My Shinkyan hosts were really mad, but I didn’t care. I’ve been to the Empire!” He chuckled some more.

“I had hoped for more.”

“There isn’t any more, at least not from me. Do you think you’re from the Empire?” Naori shook his head. “Imperials don’t look like Shinkyans; I’ll tell you that. They don’t look like Kirians either. Even if you go to Kitanga, you probably won’t run across anyone who’s been to the Empire.  Sorry to disappoint you.” He put his hand on Pol’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid. I didn’t know what to expect when you came to us months ago, but Chief Gonga, Bingi, and I are happy you turned out well enough. You work hard and don’t make trouble like Bingi’s apprentices usually do.”

Pol nodded. “Thanks for the compliment. I try to do my best. What is it like to work magic?”

“It’s something you are born with. There is a pattern to life, and some people can manipulate the pattern, but most can’t. I learned that I could when I was younger than you. I’m not an educated person, so when the Soagi shaman died, I came to take his place. It’s a good life for me,” Naori said. “I have to wear this,” he lifted the grass skirt to reveal trousers underneath, “but it’s a small price to pay. I do a bit of healing and truth-spells. I learned how to use my magic in a town four days from here.”

“Can you heal my mind?” Pol asked.

Naori shook his head. “Whatever took your memories is beyond my ability to help.”

~

Pol headed back to the tannery, disappointed that Naori didn’t know a thing, other than the fact that Imperials didn’t look like Shinkyans. Pol’s memories let him down in that area. He smiled at Naori’s story and found it made him more human. Before he seemed to be an evil character, but after a few words, Naori was a person just like him.

He spotted Weya walking out of one of the few stores in the village.

“How are you?” he said as he approached.

She waved her hand across her face. “You stink!”

Pol stepped back. “I’m sorry. I just came into the village to ask the shaman a question. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” He could have said it as a snide remark, but after talking to Naori, he tried to sound accommodating.

“I expected something different from you, certainly not politeness.”

“I am polite when I can be. Most people know more about me than I do,” Pol said smiling. “

“I’m not always a good person.”

“You can be nice enough. You just need a bit more tolerance,” Pol said.

She looked down at the ground but still stood in front of him. “Toira told me to be on the lookout for you. None of us wanted to go all the way to the tannery.”

Pol began to walk away, but Weya grabbed his arm. “Can we talk for a bit?”

Pol looked into her pleading eyes and nodded. They walked into the village social center and sat at one of the many empty tables.

Pol leaned back a bit to keep his inherent aroma from disturbing Weya. He looked at her. She reminded him of someone, but he obviously couldn’t remember. She played with her long straight black hair for a bit before speaking.

“We didn’t start off very well, did we?” Weya said.

Pol nearly gagged, he was so surprised. “No, we didn’t.” He really meant that she didn’t, but he wouldn’t dare tell her that.

“Loga and Toira asked if I could extend a hand of friendship.” She took a deep breath. “We all were rather taken by you. Maybe it’s because you are so different from anyone else in the villages. Father thinks you were well-bred before you came to Kiria.”

Pol blinked with surprise. “I might have been. I’m still trying to get used to my situation, and it’s been nearly half a year.”

“Are you going to be a tanner?”

Pol laughed. “I don’t know what I’m going to be. I was shoved into Bingi’s arms, and he was willing to take me in and let me keep my horse. I probably could have fared much worse.”

Weya smiled. It was a surprisingly shy smile for the aggressive girl. “On your next day off could you visit us again?” She took a deep breath and looked out at the square.

Pol put his hand on hers. She yanked it back. “Sorry. I’d be happy to,” he said. “Any of you can visit me at the tannery, although it would take a brave soul to subject yourself to Bingi’s tannery yard.”

Weya rose, visibly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “That’s what I had to say.” She smoothed her dress. “I’ll be getting back to our village then.”

Pol watched her go and wondered how much bravery she had to expend to have a conversation with him. He couldn’t help but smile. Even if her siblings put her up to it, he was touched by the conversation.

He walked back to the tannery, disappointed by Naori’s narrative, but tickled that he might have made some friends. The Soagi villagers were cordial enough when Pol walked through the village, but in all the time he had worked for Bingi, no one had signaled they wanted to be someone he could do more than nod to when passing.

Demeron pranced around on the open field on the other side of the tannery. He saw Pol and ran to him.

“So I’m from the Empire, but no one has ever been there. Have you?” Pol said.

Demeron nodded.

“Do people like me live there? People who look like they are Shinkyan, but they aren’t?” Pol said, thinking back to the blacksmith’s words and Weya’s comments by implication.

“I’m an Imperial person?”

Demeron nodded and neighed this time.

“Well, some day I’ll find out what an Imperial person is.” Pol accepted a nuzzle from the big horse.

~~~

Chapter Six

~

Shira

~

S hira rejoiced as they left Tishiko. Ako felt much better after sleeping through dinner. They both devoured their breakfasts. Amble was very happy to leave the city, as well.

I didn’t like being away from you, the horse said to Shira.

“That’s nice of you to say, Amble,” Shira said. Ako glanced at her and smiled.

We are heading for the path to Tesna? I know part of the way since Demeron met me when he traveled to Tishiko after he came down from the mountains.

“I rode the same trail to Tesna, too, so between us, we will find the right path.”

Amble shook her mane.

“My horse is thrilled. I barely had time to exercise her. She wants to lose a little weight. I can use some exercise as well, and we can do some proper training along the way.”

Shira grinned at the prospect. “I nearly forgot what it was like to be free.” She looked back at Tishiko, a dark smudge on the horizon. “Let’s give our horses some freedom, too, and allow them do some running.”

She laughed at the speed of the two Shinkyan mares. They raced each other for a while and then trotted. Shira sensed the exhilaration that Amble felt to be out of the Royal Stables.

They stopped at a village and bought supplies.

“You are headed east. Two Sisters going to South Salvan?”

Shira shook her head. “There is a road to the north that is on the other side of the mountains that will take us north through North Salvan and into Tarida.”

“Oh, that’s a long distance?” the shopkeeper said, obviously not so good with distances.

“Yes. We are scheduled to meet other Sisters in Tarida within the month.”

“Tarida, then.” The man nodded.

“That is correct,” Ako said. “Tarida.”

~

They continued until dusk.

This is the last inn going east. There are a few days worth of farms to pass, but no large villages, Amble said.

Shira remembered enough of her trip heading in the opposite direction a few years ago to confirm Amble’s claim.

“There are more trees as we head east if I remember correctly. We can camp along the way, but one last night in a bed,” Shira said.

“I’m all for that.”

~

They reached the mountains in three days. Amble pointed out her former master’s farm along the way. They rode into the trees and found meadows that made good camps.

Demeron fought off a wolf pack in one of these meadows, Amble said. That’s why his flanks became marred with claw and bite marks.

Shira related Amble’s Demeron stories to Ako as they climbed over the top.

“We’re in South Salvan, now,” Shira said as they began their descent.

The air already seemed wetter and heavier than what they had felt just an hour before on the Shinkyan side. The trees and brush also changed. Shira hadn’t noticed the difference on her first trip as they sped through the trees down the tiny path towards Tesna. Time wasn’t on her side then, when Shira had to get to Tesna as soon as possible, and even then she barely arrived on time to meet Pol for the very first time.

She sighed, probably the first of hundreds of sighs that would happen when she thought of Pol. Their time in the monastery seemed so long ago, and she now rode along the same path.

Tesna monastery peeked out from her left through trees that had already lost their leaves. They emerged from the forest onto the training field the acolytes once used for sword practice. Shira remembered Pol keeping his skill hidden from the monks. Now, shoots of trees popped up here and there as the forest had begun to reclaim the field from the monastery.

The gate was shut. Ako dismounted and opened it. They rode through the monastery, drawing stares from the few monks who walked between buildings. The monks had returned. Shira smiled at the memory of meeting Pol for the first time.

“What do you want of us?” a monk said. He looked familiar, but Shira didn’t recall knowing his name.

“I thought the monastery was deserted,” she said.

“There aren’t many of us left. We lost most of our order to the North Salvan war, and others have joined forces with King Grostin. Tesna is down to forty magicians, and only a few of us are competent. We do have our library, though.”

Shira looked over at the library building.

“You’ve been here before?”

Shira laughed. “I have. I disguised myself as a boy.”

“The Shinkyan? That was you?”

Shira smiled with her lips closed. “It was. At that time my role was awkward, so I hope you don’t hold it against me.”

The monk turned red. “I don’t. We’ve talked about it long enough and have come to the conclusion that the purge was a good thing for the monastery. We’ve sent a delegation to Deftnis to request aligning ourselves with our former enemy.” He looked up a Shira, who remained mounted, “You are a former enemy, too, but I wish you well.”

“As I do, you.” Shira and Ako proceeded on through the open front gate. No guards protected access, and Shira thought that was a very good sign.

“You shouldn’t have told him who you were,” Ako said. “What if they hated you?”

“Did you see hate in any of the monks’ eyes?” Shira said. “I didn’t. Those who returned to Tesna were the meekest of the monks. I saw no suspicion or anger. Tesna has truly changed, and for the better. Besides, they only know me as a Shinkyan girl.”

Shira didn’t say anything about the monks who had traveled north to Borstall. She worried more about that than the monks who returned. Tesna might have to contribute the last of its monks to help defend the nation. Pol’s vicious step-brother Grostin would eventually set his eyes on South Salvan, and then none of the monks she had just seen would survive.

The town close to Tesna seemed to have lost some vitality, as well. Shira had only passed through it once on the way to Covial. They stopped at an inn.

“A room with two beds, and we’ll need baths,” Ako said. She had assumed an Imperial face before they entered the town. Shira remained looking like Shira.

“A Shinkyan, eh?” the female innkeeper said as she sniffed at Ako’s Imperial coinage. “Suit yourself,” the woman snorted as she slid the coins into her other hand.

“Do you have anything against Shinkya?” Shira asked.

The woman shook her head, but she clearly did. “You’re a customer, same as any,” she said.

“Thank you,” Shira kept all sarcasm out of her voice.

After baths and an Imperial-style meal, their first since they entered Shinkya a few months previous, they sat at a table in the common room and endured the stares and furtive looks from the clientele.

“They don’t like you, Shira,” Ako said.

“They can feel as they wish as long as they keep their hands to themselves,” Shira said. “If they don’t like me here, they can leave.”

A young man walked up to the table. “You are a real Shinkyan, aren’t you?”

Shira gave him half a smile. “I am, and you are a real South Salvan?”

“I am, born and bred.” He smiled to reveal a missing front tooth.

“Lost that in a fight?”

“What?”

Shira pointed at his mouth.

“Oh, yeah.” He covered his mouth and smiled.

“Do you have any questions about Shinkya that I might be able to answer?” Shira said.

“I heard that Shinkyans stink, but you don’t stink.” He grinned, and then looked at a table of more young men. They were laughing.

Shira stood up. She tweaked a flame in her hand. “I do magic, though,” she said, “Want a sample?”

His eyes ballooned at the flame. He instinctively put his hands out. “No, no, no. I’m fine. No questions.”  He retreated to the table. The laughter vanished.

“A little heavy-handed?” Ako said.

Shira pressed her lips together. “What would you do?” she finally said.

“I would have punched him in the face and knocked out his other tooth,” Ako said with a sly smile.

They both laughed and finished their drinks before heading up to bed.

~

Covial seemed to be the same. Shira’s reactions to the ersatz Shinkyan architecture hadn’t changed, and Ako echoed her opinion as she rode through the city’s streets for the first time.

Ako pointed out a group of Shinkyans walking the streets. Ako wondered why Shinkyans would show themselves so openly. She told Shira that Sisters wouldn’t do such a thing undisguised.

They would start at the palace. They hoped that Queen Isa would welcome them. Shira gave her name to the guard at the gate, and after a wait, the guard ushered them into the main courtyard.

Queen Isa greeted them while she walked down the Castle steps with open arms.

“Shira, what brings you to Covial?”

“There have been…developments.”

The Queen eyed Ako. “You have a new traveling companion. She is welcome, too,” The Queen giggled. “It’s so good to see not-so-old friends.” Her eyes twinkled as the took Shira’s arm and led her up the steps. A sober-faced man stood at the top of the stairs.

Isa stared at him. “Get their bags to rooms suitable for a visiting princess and her lady-in-waiting.”

“As you wish, My Queen.” He bowed deeply and watched them pass.

The man gave Shira shivers. “Who is he? I don’t remember him from my last visit.”

“You wouldn’t. He’s my sister’s husband. Get a little wine in him, and all that dourness disappears.” She waved her hand. “I don’t have to show you around, do I?”

Shira smiled. “I’ve been here before, but under a different guise.”

“Shro? That was the name you used, wasn’t it?”

The Queen’s good nature infected Shira, so she couldn’t not smile.  Ako followed discreetly behind, undoubtedly taking it all in.

After being shown to their rooms by a servant and given a chance to freshen up, Ako and Shira were shown to the Queen’s study.  This was a room Shira had never entered. The colors were all yellows and creams. The large desk was made out of some blonde wood. It suited Isa rather well.

“So, where is Pol?” Queen Isa said with a more somber face. “I would have expected to see him at your side.”

“We suspect he is in Daera with his memory gone.”

The Queen’s hand went to her mouth as she gasped. “How did this happen?”

Shira told the Queen her story and the reports that she had received from the Bureaucracy.

“Why aren’t you headed for Daera?”

“I was told not to, and I agree, as hard as it is to accept that kind of advice,” Shira said. “His horse, Demeron, is with him.”

“The black Shinkyan that he talked about?”

Shira nodded. “We don’t even know what Pol looks like. They disguised him before they let him go.”

“But he could already be dead,” Isa said. She turned red and put her hand to her mouth. “That is a terrible thing to say. Erase that comment from your mind. What are you going to do?”

“Wait. I can only wait. I will give Pol five years to return and then I will journey to Daera to find out what happened.”

“Five years is a long time,” Isa said.

Shira had been giving the request she was about to make a lot of consideration. “I thought I might be allowed to manage Pol’s estate.”

Queen Isa giggled. “Along with Kelso Beastwell? He’d be tickled to have someone else deal with the Steward. Of course, I’ll have my people draw up suitable papers for you, along with a stipend and access to the estate’s accounts. Even if your mother banished you from Shinkya, you have a home in South Salvan. I’m sure Pol wouldn’t mind, even if he remembered everything.”

“What about the threat from the north?”

“That pest, Grostin?” Isa nodded. “I’ll need your help there as well. We are strengthening our border. The fight against my late husband depleted our manpower, but we are determined to defend ourselves.” She took a determined breath. “His sights aren’t on us, but he and his partners look to the north and the west. My goal is to be prepared for anything at any time, but his full force won’t come here. We are strategically insignificant, so it is unlikely he will commit all his forces. Sometimes being a backwater is a good thing,” Isa said, beaming.

“What do you know about the ships that attacked Deftnis?”

“I heard about that. Wilbon, my former cousin, who I stripped of all titles and lands, now lives in Borstall. He has already been sentenced to death should he step foot in South Salvan again. He will pay for his treachery, and that treachery includes betraying both Pol and you. Let’s talk of other things. I am thrilled to be your hostess in South Salvan, even if it proves to be for an extended period. I am thrilled you came to help!”

Shira nodded. “Ako and I will do what we can.”

“Ako,” Isa said the name as if feeling the sound of it in her mouth. “You must be a Shinkyan Sister,” Isa said. “We have a few of them in Covial.”

“I noticed a group of Shinkyans walking your streets.”

“Ah, that. Those aren’t Sisters. The Shinkyan Bureaucracy has started a mission in Covial. They have brought in a few hundred of your countrymen to help us, but we don’t quite know what to do with them. Should I be concerned?”

“They have been in the open?”

Isa nodded. “Indeed. Queen Anira has never bothered to reach out to us, even though we share a very long border. The Bureaucracy sees troubling times ahead. I don’t see them as a threat. Should I?”

“I’d like to speak with them while I’m in Covial,” Shira said.

“Of course.”

~

Shira and Ako met with three Shinkyans, an older man, a middle-aged woman, and a younger man, at an expensive Covial restaurant. They followed their hosts to a private room. Shira noticed the well-dressed patrons. The Shinkyans mirrored the styles of South Salvans. Shira and Ako dressed as they did on their trip, like Sisters. They introduced themselves.

“We received word that you were on your way to Covial,” the older Shinkyan man said.

Shira detected tension in the room. The woman looked especially disturbed, as if she didn’t want to be caught speaking to her.

“Birds?” Ako said.

Shira didn’t detect any disguises, but she wouldn’t be surprised if the Bureaucracy had Sisters working for them.

“Of course. You have a password?”

“Lini,” Shira said.

All three of the Shinkyans seemed to relax a bit.

“We were worried the Queen or a faction might send disguised Sisters.”

“We assumed you were,” the older Shinkyan said. “We are anxious to inform you of our intentions. The Bureaucracy is worried that King Grostin of North Salvan will eventually invade Covial. That puts Shinkya in grave danger.”

“That has always been a Shinkyan worry,” Shira said. “That was why I went to Tesna Monastery in the first place. What is different now?”

“Current intelligence speaks of an alliance between King Grostin and a secret group from elsewhere in the Empire. The North Salvan King has already absorbed most of the surviving Tesnan monks that fought against his father.”

“Not all. Some have gravitated back to Tesna, about forty, if the monk we spoke to was honest. I’m going to Pol Cissert’s duchy and manage it while I wait for him to return.”

“Why would you do that?” the younger Shinkyan said.

Shira looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I am used to doing things and going places. With my mother’s actions in Tishiko, I’m not safe there. If I am in a castle or manor house in Pol’s duchy, I can surround myself with guards if I need to. What do you want of me?” Shira asked.

“If you can help Queen Isa build her defenses, that would be wonderful,” the woman said. “We can’t be too overt. Although we move freely in the capital, the common people mistrust us.”

“That is to be expected,” Ako said. “We’ve been hiding for centuries. What else do you do here in Covial that Sisters can’t?”

“Be open,” the older Shinkyan said. “The Sisters are mostly tied to the factions, and the factions are tied to the Queen. Most of our contingent are warriors, male and non-magical, I’m afraid, but they represent a fighting force, however small.”

Shira thought for a moment. “Do they have an actual function in Covial?”

“Not really. They are ready to be used as a token force supporting Queen Isa against King Grostin. We want to show Queen Isa that we, the Shinkyan Bureaucracy, are willing to spill our blood against an oppressive force.”

That was more of a revelation of the Bureaucracy’s intent than anything Lini had said. Shira looked at the young Shinkyan expecting him to go on.

“The factions and the Queen aren’t looking at the reality of the situation. Our hope is that, at some point, you might rally them to fight for our country. The Imperial rebellion will eventually spread onto our home soil.”

“And my mother will be too inwardly focused to react,” Shira said. She saw the pattern as Pol might.

“Precisely.”

“If your soldiers aren’t doing anything useful in Covial, then have them come to me at Pol Cissert’s ducal estate. I’ll be managing the Duchy, working with a man named Kelso Beastwell at coming up with defensive strategies at the border. I am Shinkyan, so they won’t have to face Imperial discrimination.”

“A princess managing an estate. Is that what you left Shinkya for?” the woman said.

Shira looked her in the eye. “I left Shinkya to preserve my life. I’m just happy I have something to do for the time I wait for Pol Cissert to return.”

“We are interested in that, too,” the older Shinkyan said. “You know that.”

“I do. I’ll notify you when I’m ready for your troops,” Shira said getting up.

“You won’t be eating with us?”

“No, but maybe some other time.”

Ako smiled as they left the restaurant. “Pulling rank on the bureaucrats?”

Shira narrowed her eyes. “Not rank, exactly. I won’t have them questioning my motives. We can’t afford to become their tools, but we can’t afford not to work with them.”

“I agree. That is an excellent observation. Spoken by a true Sister.”

~~~

Chapter Seven

~

Pol

~

A s time passed, Pol walked to the blacksmith’s shop every week or two for dinner and good conversation. He got that from Doara every day, but he had to admit the blacksmith family was more fun to be around. Weya had become nicer to him, and that made Pol feel like he had accomplished something there.

He was playing around with boiling leather to make it harder, but not too hard. He found that there was a specific technique. He couldn’t write in Kirian, but he remembered the letters that he read when Demeron wrote out his name. So he made notes in that. He made sure the water was boiling and then experimented dipping the leather in and found the best results were when the leather was already soaking. Perhaps the temperature rose faster that way. The thickness of the leather also made a difference.

He finally was ready to show Bingi. So Pol took his final results to the tanner who sat in front of the lime vats.

“Here are my boiled leather experiments,” Pol said. “The longer you boil the leather, the stiffer it becomes—”

“And the sooner it gets ruined,” Bingi said.

“I timed the dipping, and it worked best when I first saturated the leather at room temperature.”

Bingi sat up. “You went to a lot of trouble. Show me the leather.”

Pol gave him the samples.

“The more flexible pieces were in the water the shortest time? Can you repeat this?” Bingi said.

Pol nodded. “Harder for shoe soles, softer for saddles and strapping.”

“Good work. You learned all that from scraps?”

Pol nodded. “I haven’t used a large piece, but I don’t see it reacting any different if the water gets stirred, and the vat is large enough. Everything has got to be dumped in at once and heated at the same rate or the piece won’t be consistent.”

Bingi nodded. “I’ll take these and see if anyone would want smaller pieces. We should go slow with this kind of thing.”

“Do they have this kind of leather in Kitanga?”

The tanner shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know everything about Kiria, but I do know that no one sells this kind of leather.”

Pol straightened up. “Anything I can do to help.”

“Show me the next time you make anything. Two people or more should know how it’s done,” Bingi said.

There was something in the way Bingi made his request that bothered Pol. He didn’t know why or how it did, but something didn’t fit. He left his samples and found Demeron. It was time to head west to gather hides. He hitched Demeron to the cart and headed towards the farms after Doara had given him enough food for two days.

The trip started out uneventfully. Pol had gone west many times and had no trouble picking up the hides and paying the farmers in Kirian coinage. The transactions had taken less time than usual so that Pol would sleep out in the open on the way back. It had happened before, but this time he wouldn’t have a cooked meal from one of the farmers’ kitchens.

He set up a little camp and pulled out his bedroll. As usual, he unhitched Demeron and let him out to forage. Pol ate a cold meal and thought of arriving at the tannery a bit early the next day.

He woke to Demeron’s neighing. Pol sat up. Something sharp poked into his throat.

“What’s someone like you doing out in the woods all alone?” a rough voice said in the dark. His accent was so terrible that Pol had a hard time understanding his words.

“I’m just a tanner’s apprentice taking hides back to my master’s yard. I don’t have any money. What I did have was spent buying the hides in the cart.” Pol felt around for his long knife. He vowed the man would feel the sting of his knife before Pol died.

“No money and I got no use for raw hides.” The poking stopped. “Got any food to give a traveler?”

“Beneath the seat of the cart. It’s not much to eat,” Pol said.

The man grunted.

Pol scrambled to his feet and backed away. Now that he stood, he could make out the shape of the man. A much taller shape came up behind the thief. Pol slid the knife out of its sheath. Pol should have felt afraid, but he didn’t. Not with Demeron behind his assailant.

The man cried out as Demeron bit into his collar and lifted the man to his feet. Pol could hear the man’s knife fall to the dirt. He quickly picked it up.

“What has got me?”

Pol hurried to the cart and pulled out a length of rope.

“My horse doesn’t like thieves.” Pol pressed his knife into the man’s clothes. “I’m armed and have your knife. Put your arms straight out in front.”

The man struggled to get out of Demeron’s grip but the horse dragged him backward. The horse snorted, and the man gave up holding his hands out. Pol quickly tied him up, using knots that came into his head. He had only one more rope and tied the thief to a wheel.

“Hungry?” Pol asked.

The man nodded. “You’re just a boy, aren’t you.”

“Sixteen or seventeen.”

The man laughed. “Don’t even know your age?”

“Must have knocked my head in a shipwreck and lost my memories. When I came to, I didn’t even know my name.” Pol grabbed a small loaf of bread and gave it to the man who wolfed it down. “Have you killed many travelers?” Pol asked.

“You think I’d answer that?” The man said with his mouth full.

“What turned you to a life of crime?”

“It’s hardly a life. Crime doesn’t pay out here in the villages. No one has much unless I come across a merchant,and I haven’t done that yet.”

The man hardly sounded like a competent thief. “So why don’t you get a job?” Pol said.

“Who would hire an Imperial? I look different and talk different. I was stranded at port three months ago with all my belongings on my ship. I’ve been wandering south ever since. I thought I might be able to get something going in Kitanga, but…” the man shrugged his shoulders. Pol couldn’t make out his features in the dark.

“You can always help me,” Pol said in what he hoped was the Imperial language.

“How did you learn Eastrilian?” the man said. Pol heard the astonishment in the thief’s voice.

“I said I lost my memories. For some reason, I remembered the language. What was it, Eastrilian? Is that the language spoken in the Empire?”

“It is. You speak it well for someone who doesn’t know the name of his language.”

“Get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow.” Pol left him his waterskin. Demeron will be guarding you.”

“There is someone else here?”

“My horse knows how to guard.” Pol said. “Don’t you Demeron?”

The horse neighed in the dark.

Pol slept fitfully but awoke just as dawn broke. The thief remained tied up at the wheel. Pol took the remaining water in the skin and washed his face. There was a little blush of blood as he wiped his neck.  Perhaps he had come closer to death than he thought.

The Imperial was short with dark brown hair and a thick beard, much thicker than any beard Pol had seen in Kiria. His complexion was rough and ruddy, where Kirians and Pol had darker skin and black hair. He wore ragged clothes cut differently from the loose styles worn in the villages, and his boots were a totally different design.

Pol examined the man’s knife. He had picked that up in Kiria since it looked more like the knife he had won in the village. He nudged the thief’s foot.

“Wake up,” Pol said in Eastrilian.

The man shook his head and blinked his eyes. He looked up at Pol. “You’re a Shinkyan.”

“Maybe,” Pol said. “What is the Empire like?”

“Untie me, and I’ll tell you.”

Pol removed the rope that bound him to the wheel. “That’s all for now,” he said.

“The Baccusol Empire. How I wish I were there now. The Daerans don’t like us.”

“Daera?” Pol said.

“You really don’t know? Daera is the continent. Kiria is a country on the continent. It’s on the southeast side. The rest of the edges of Daera is populated by uncivilized people. Both Kiria and Zasos like it that way.”

“What is Zasos?”

“It’s the country on the big plateau that covers the middle of Daera. They are mostly nomads. It’s rumored to be a bad place, so when the ship deserted me, I planned to work my way to Kitanga, so I could find a ship out of there.”

“There are Imperials in Kitanga?”

“No.” The man looked up at Pol. “But there are Shinkyans, and I can get back to Eastril, the continent where the Baccusol Empire is.”

“Shinkya is part of the Empire?”

The man shook his head. “It’s independent, but it is the closest country to Kiria.”

“Do you need money?” Pol said. “I have Shinkyan money. I’ll give it to you if you will take a message to the Empire.”

“A message?”

“All I know is that my name is Pol and my horse’s name is Demeron. Tell somebody important that I am here. Maybe nothing will happen, but I’d like someone to know I am still alive.”

Demeron came close.

“Does that sound like a good idea?” Pol looked at Demeron who wrote something in the dirt.

“D-E-F-T-N-I-S,” the thief said. “Deftnis Monastery?”

Demeron nodded.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll make it anywhere, but I’ll try. I don’t know anything about Deftnis other than it’s a monastery on the coast of the Dukedoms. The duchy of Sand, I think. Maybe they can find me another ship.”

“If you try to attack me, Demeron will take care of you. Understand?”

The man nodded. Pol hitched up Demeron to the cart.

“I will keep your hands tied. You understand I need to do that, don’t you?” Pol said.

“Don’t worry about me.” He looked at Pol with eyes of amazement. “You say you’re just a tanner’s apprentice?”

Pol nodded as he told Demeron to proceed.

“I’ll get your message to Deftnis and get a reward.”

That brought a smile to Pol’s face. He knew he was from a place called Deftnis Monastery, and that was in the Empire. He now had the information he had failed to get from Naori, the shaman.

~

The man had two names. Fredder Banefield. He was from a country called Daftine on the south coast of Eastril. Pol didn’t like the man, but if Demeron knew of Deftnis and the man had the slimmest of chances of getting there, Pol would let the man go.

He figured that the tannery didn’t represent any value to Fredder. Bingi didn’t like Fredder either. He said if that was an Imperial, they could all stay in the Empire.

Pol gave the man half of the contents in the sack of Shinkyan coins, hoping it would be enough to get the man on a ship north. He gave him a paper with the message:

Deftnis Monastery,

I am Pol. I was shipwrecked off the coast of Daera and Kiria. I have lost most of my memories. I don’t know who I am or where I am from, but I speak Eastrilian very well, so says Fredder Banefield who carries this letter, so I assume I am from the Empire.

Demeron is my horse. He can understand everything I say. He wrote my name and his and wrote Deftnis in the dirt, so I suppose that is where I may be from. I am working as a tanner’s apprentice in the village of Soagi. I have been here for seven months according to Fredder Banefield.  Please give him a reward if he deserves one.

Pol

Bingi put the letter in a waterproof leather pouch and told Fredder that there was a port close to Shinkya a few days walk to the northeast.

“I didn’t expect anyone to help me,” Fredder said. He lifted the purse of Shinkyan coins. “Why you trust me will be a mystery, but I won’t let you down.”

Doara gave the man some food and a waterskin. All three of them stood in the road and watched the Imperial head north along the road. At the next village north, he could head directly east to the port.

Pol was tempted to go with the Imperial, but he didn’t trust him enough to be his traveling companion. He could have asked Fredder more questions, but Pol had no desire to escape from his new friends. Pol didn’t need the money, and he doubted if the man would go to Deftnis if there weren't some promise of a reward. It would be months or longer before Pol could hear back, so he didn’t hold out any hope. He didn’t know of anything else to do.

Even though Fredder had told him more information than Pol could take in about the Empire, none of it brought any recognition in Pol’s memories. He continued his work and soon didn’t even think of Fredder.

~~~

Chapter Eight

~

Shira

~

S hira looked down at her map. The size of Pol’s ducal estate surprised her. His lands did not extend to the North Salvan border, but they still took up a good portion of South Salvan with two towns and eleven villages within its confines. They stopped on a high knoll that overlooked a section of Pol’s dukedom.

“Pol doesn’t own all of that land,” Kelso Beastwell said. He stood up in his saddle and pointed to a town in the distance. Not quite half is owned by the inhabitants and the rest by Pol. My little slice of South Salvan is actually in Pol’s duchy and lies to the east. It is more than enough for me.”

“How many people do you employ as Pol’s steward?”

“I’m not the steward, but it’s close to one thousand, and that doesn’t include the tenants who number another three thousand or so. Onkar might have been an evil man, but he did know how to run his duchy. You need to spend the first month or so touring each corne of Pol’s domain and making your face known. I’ll get you started.”

“How will I learn to manage all this?” Shira said looking up from the map.

“The key is learning to hire the right people and manage them. You have other fish to fry, if I might use the term. A good Queen should know how her kingdom fares, not necessarily run everything.”

“Pol had that same conversation with Landon, his brother, when we were in Listya.” Shira frowned at the recollection, feeling the loss of Pol at her side. She’d rather listen to Pol talk about Landon.  She let out a sigh.

“So are good people managing the Duchy?”

“They are, but I’m not included in that number, regardless of what Isa thinks,” Kelso said. “Perhaps it’s time to ride to the manor and see your new home.”

Shira enjoyed meeting Kelso in Covial. Having a familiar face helped lighten the burden of arriving at Pol’s duchy with just Ako by her side and introducing them to strangers. She didn’t know how they would accept a Shinkyan, but she would find out.

They traveled down a long lane bordered with tall, columnar trees, arriving through a large gate. The wall was three times as high as Shira was tall, she estimated.    It surrounded a group of buildings. This was no castle, but a three-story manor house built out of yellow stone.

Shira let out a sigh, relieved to see a building not copying the Shinkyan style that Covial had. The mansion looked new with columns and arches. The building had a roof covered with flat, thin, blue stones.

This was Pol’s house, and he had never seen it. She smiled as she walked up the steps to the main floor. Windows of a basement peeked out from wells.

“Onkar was the kind of person who liked simple but well-made things, so the place may look a little sparse, but I think Pol will like it.”

Shira wondered what Kelso’s definition of sparse was, for when she walked into the foyer, she didn’t think sparse. It looked elegant in a simple way. Shinkyans didn’t like decorations overdone, either.

“Did Onkar have this built?”

Kelso nodded. “His father was a duke, but he declined the title. The old building burned to the ground. The real steward said it was just another fake Shinkyan building. Onkar wanted something substantial.”

Shira grinned. “He was flamboyant, so this is a bit of a surprise.”

“I think there was a private man and a public Onkar.”

She ran her hand along a polished sideboard of dark wood. “What is this style?”

Kelso shrugged. “I’m a soldier.” He shook his head. “My wife knows these things.”

Shira looked at Ako, who seemed as impressed as she.

“You won’t lack during your exile,” Ako said. She finally reverted to her normal face.

“I won’t lack, even if my exile is permanent,” Shira said. “Where is the real Steward?”

“Here, My Princess.”

Shira waved her finger at the older man. He looked fit as if he was a soldier in Onkar’s army. “Call me Shira. My mother stripped me of my title of Crown Princess.”

“That still makes you a Princess,” Kelso said.

“Not you, too,” Shira said. She thought of an appropriate Imperial title. “If you want to call me by a title, Lady seems to fit. Would that be better?”

The Steward looked relieved. “It does, My Lady.”

“What is your name?

“Pentor will do, My Lady.”

“Do you live on the grounds?”

Pentor nodded. “My wife and I live in a house near the west wall.”

“I’d like to meet her. I’m Shira,” she smiled, “and this is my companion Ako Injira.”

“Mistress Injira,” Pentor bowed.

“You can call me Lady, too, if you’re uncomfortable with Ako,” the Sister said.

“Do you require anything special for diet or otherwise?”

“Because we are Shinkyans?” Shira said.

“Not in particular, but because I want to make sure you are comfortable.”

“Well said,” Shira bowed to him. “I suppose there are other servants who answer the door and such?”

“We have a housekeeper and maids. Duke Onkar didn’t like too many manservants around. It reminded him of the army and the monastery.”

Shira took Pentor’s comment as somewhat droll.

“Kelso said that the Duke renounced the title.”

Pentor smiled. “I never did like him doing that. I served his father, and he was always the Duke. Duke Onkar can hardly protest if I refer to him that way now, can he?”

Shira liked Pentor’s humor. His comment showed a solid spine. “No, he can’t. Can we have dinner together?” Shira said. “ I’d like to discuss if there is anything I can do to help you do your job better. It might be to stay out of the way, mostly, but I want to learn all about managing a small duchy. Can you bear to be my mentor?”

“I would be delighted, My Lady. I will arrange for dinner tonight and bring Annet, my wife.”

Shira smiled. “I would be delighted, as well. Could you send the housekeeper in? Oh, do you run things from this house?”

“No, My Lady. I have a set of offices attached to my house.”

“Good. Thank you for greeting me.”

“I look forward to doing so many times in the future.” He bowed to all three and left.

“An interesting man. I think I’ll like him.”

“Pentor is a good man to rely on.” Kelso tapped his foot. “Now, where is the housekeeper? I have to get back home. It’s an hour’s ride.”

~

Shira sat down at the long table. The housekeeper set the plates at one end. Ako sat next to her with no one at the head of the table. Shira wasn’t about to invade Pol’s space. She considered herself a caretaker, not an owner.

She looked across at Pentor and his wife, Annet. “Thank you for joining us at such quick notice.”

“The house cook prepares our meals, too. This way she didn’t have to use the cart path to our place.”

“I’m not at all familiar with how this place runs,” Shira said, feeling inadequate now that the scale of the job confronted her.

“If you will permit, I will spend the entire day tomorrow giving you my view of things,” Annet said. “Pentor has business in Hardrock, the largest town in the duchy.” She looked over at her husband. “Or should she accompany you?”

“Normally, that would be a good idea, but after a day with you, my dear, she will be able to take over my job.”

She slapped Pentor’s wrist. “There you go again mocking me, and in front of the new Lady. You’ll have to forgive my husband. He has such a dry sense of humor, sometimes it’s as hard as a rock.”

Pentor winced at the awful reference to the town he would be visiting. “I concede to your superior wit.”

Annet giggled.

“I’d be happy to get your overall view first,” Shira said to Annet. “I hope you won’t mind sharing your knowledge with Ako.”

“Of course not.”

The rest of the dinner was more social than informative, although Shira did find out the mansion staff consisted of a cook, cook’s assistant, six maids, the housekeeper, and a handyman. Annet was unsure about the gardeners, while Pentor quietly observed. Sometimes the ghost of a smile lit up his face at some of his silly wife’s explanations.

The next day, Annet came over after a good breakfast. Shira had to agree the mansion had competent servants. She could picture Queen Isa enduring a rather gentle confinement in this house if she hadn’t escaped from General Onkar during the Tesnan conflict.

Ako needed to listen to Annet’s descriptions. Shira tried to sift the essence of what she said from all of the woman’s fluffy descriptions, trying to build a pattern of the duchy from what the woman described.

She finally resorted to writing notes during their midday meal and reviewing the notes with Annet before they began their afternoon session.

“I’ll be wanting to spend time with Pentor tomorrow,” Shira said as Annet left the mansion by the back door.

The woman pointed to their house’s roof that poked above the walled garden in the back. “That’s ours,” she said a few paces along the garden before she waved and hurried home.

~

Shira looked up from her notes. “So most of the duchy’s employees are farmers?”

Pentor nodded. “The land is rich and has been for centuries. The river to the south gently floods most of the fields along the river every spring, laying good topsoil from the mountains. Duke Pol owns all that land. We’ve convinced those farmers within the duchy to follow the agricultural advice from the Emperor’s experts. That is one thing that Duke Onkar and his father and grandfather insisted on. It has made the duchy rich.”

Shira learned that the duchy extended a two day's travel north to south and three day’s travel east to west along the river that Pentor mentioned. Queen Isa was very, very generous to Pol.

“Representatives of the Emperor are due in a few days to visit on their way to meet with Queen Isa. I admit I’m a bit anxious,” Pentor said. “Duke Pol has a higher profile than Duke Onkar, at least until he became caught up in King Astor’s plotting.”

Shira stayed silent about her opinion of Onkar. “Do you know who is coming?”

“They are from the office of the Emperor’s Instrument. Lord Gastoria and his wife and a Shardian.”

“Akonai Haleaku?”

“You know them?”

Shira grinned. “Pol knows them much better, but yes, I know them. Don’t be worried. They are here to see what Queen Isa gave the Imperial Prince.”

“Duke Pol.”

“Yes, Duke Pol. I can’t wait to see them again.”

~

Shira went into the closest town and ordered clothing. Ako protested, but Shira bought a wardrobe for both of them. If they were going to live in the manor house, they needed clothes less suited for Sisters and more suited for sisters.

A carriage rode up the avenue leading to the estate accompanied by twenty or more Imperial soldiers. Shira could see it coming in the distance. She didn’t expect to be nervous, but she waved her sweaty palms in the air.

“Are you uncomfortable meeting the Imperials?” Pentor asked,

Shira nodded. “I am meeting them here, at Pol’s manor. I feel like an interloper.”

“An interloper with Queen Isa’s permission.”

“Yes,” Shira said, smoothing her dress. “I have every right to be here.” She left unspoken the remainder of the sentence that danced ominously in her mind…until he is dead.

She shook her head. That won’t happen. Five years she’d give Pol before she would plunge into the Daeran jungles. She vowed to find him. Shira schooled emotion away by picturing a blankness in her mind, a technique taught to all Shinkyan princesses.

Malden Gastoria, the assistant to the Emperor’s Instrument, helped Farthia, his wife and the daughter of the Emperor’s Instrument, down from the carriage while a darker skinned Shardian walked around.

“Shira,” Akonai said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I did,” Malden said. “We received your birds. I expected you to either go to Deftnis, Yastan or here. I’m glad you chose here.”

“So am I,” Farthia said. “This is Pol’s home?”

Shira sighed. “A home he has never seen. It’s a temporary one for me now.”

“You’d be welcome in Yastan,” Akonai said.

“I would rather wait for Pol here.”

“Pol,” Malden shook his head. “What was the latest you heard? Barian said he thought Pol was dead, but no one believes anything he says.”

“Inside,” Shira said. “We can get your carriage taken care of and show you to your rooms. I don’t quite know what to do about your soldiers and drivers, but the housekeeper will know. I had no idea you were coming until a few days ago.”

She heard cooing coming from the carriage. “Did you bring birds?”

“Ah, Ranno insisted. That’s how I knew you were leaving Shinkya. I get a few messages every day.”

“I found the birdsong relaxing,” Farthia said.

Malden looked at his wife sideways and smiled. “You would.”

She put her arm through Malden’s. “We are so compatible. Malden knows me so well.”

“Inside?” Akonai said.

Shira nodded and led them into the house’s private drawing room, at least that’s what the housekeeper called it. She couldn’t envision General Onkar doing any drawing.

“Did you have any trouble traversing the borders?”

Malden looked at Akonai and then nodded. “We lost five or six soldiers. I have asked for more men to help defend Queen Isa’s domain. It’s a shame we have to slip through a corner of North Salvan to reach South Salvan.”

“I asked Kelso Beastwell to join us tomorrow for an impromptu conference. Queen Isa wants us to come up with some ideas for South Salvan’s defense. Then she will take her generals and our ideas and come up with a strategy for defending her country.”

“That couldn’t come any sooner, although we think that Grostin has his eyes more fixed on Tarida than South Salvan. Pol’s brother has virtually cut himself off from the Empire,” Akonai said. “But, we can talk about that later.” He smiled sheepishly at Malden.

“That’s right,” Malden said. “Tell us about your adventures after you left Yastan. We did receive word that Fadden and Paki safely arrived at Deftnis.”

Shira looked at Ako, who seemed to relax a bit.  She described the trip to Shinkya and her time with the Queen. Ako filled in what happened to Pol outside of the Royal Compound and then left it to Shira to talk about the Bureaucracy and her conflicts with Queen Anira.

Malden shook his head. “What a foul thing to do. I never did like Shinkya,” he looked at Shira and Ako, “present company excluded, of course, and Demeron.” He smiled, but pain still defined his face. “Perhaps the Scorpions did save his life. We might never know, but Pol is the ultimate survivor. He should have never made it through his childhood at Borstall. He will return with new memories together with, hopefully, his old ones.”

Shira wiped away a tear. She took a deep breath and vowed to stay strong and wait, and wait, and wait.

“So, what brings you to his duchy? I never even asked anyone its name,” Shira said, realizing that was a foolish statement, but true.

“Redearth,” Malden said.

“What kind of a name is that?” Shira said.

“Red earth. It’s what the lower fields look like after the spring flooding. Pentor, the steward, must have told you about that.”

Shira smiled. “Redearth. I’m glad it isn’t Onkar-land.” She was happy to see them all laugh.

~

Pentor laughed at one of Malden’s many comments. The two men seemed to have developed a good relationship, Shira observed as they rode through the farmlands that gave the duchy its name. The fields were fallow, but even to Shira’s untrained eye, the soil looked black and crumbly as Pentor had showed them at one of their stops.

A rider drew near.

“My Lady, a contingent of a few hundred Shinkyans rest outside the manor gates. They said that you gave them permission to camp on the duchy’s lands.”

Pentor turned. “They have already arrived?” he said to Shira.

She shrugged.

“Shinkyans? From the Bureaucracy?” Malden said.

Shira nodded. “There is an abandoned farm an hour or so north of the manor. Pentor and I thought that would be a good place for them with a village not too far away.”

“Are we through here?” Malden asked. “I want to talk to these Shinkyans.”

The messenger led the way. They galloped through a village with all eyes following their progress. When they arrived at the manor, Akonai and Ako talked to the Shinkyan leader.

Akonai’s Shinkyan pronunciations were awful, but he knew grammar and plenty of vocabulary.

“There was an incident in Covial,” Ako said. “The soldiers were set up by a few citizens, and others began to complain about Shinkyans roaming Covial unescorted. Queen Isa thought it was time to get them to the border.”

Malden looked at Akonai. “Grostin’s group?”

The Shardian nodded. “Most likely.” He shrugged. “They left Covial a week or two sooner than they expected.”

Shira tried to put the act into a pattern and came up with a startling thought. “Perhaps the North Salvans want to discredit the Shinkyans and me.”

“Why you?” Malden said. He wore that infuriating half smile that indicated he was a step ahead of you. Pol hadn’t acquired the same look. Thank goodness.

“To break down our efforts at the border,” Shira said. “It’s not me personally, but anything the Empire’s enemy can do to break a unified front is a worthwhile pursuit.”

He grinned. “Pol would come up with something similar. Good for you! Do you mind if we help you construct a defensive strategy?”

Kelso arrived with another messenger that Ako had sent out. They invited the Shinkyan commander, who knew enough Eastrilian to make sense of what they said.

Malden talked about sending a contingent of Imperial troops to help define the borders, as he put it.

Shira thought about the border patrols and sought out a pattern like Pol would do. “We need to coordinate between three forces, South Salvan, Imperial, and Shinkyan. Each force needs a section to monitor. Don’t you think?”

“Why don’t you oversee the Shinkyans? Kelso said. “You speak the language, but represent South Salvan as a regent landowner.”

“I’m not a military person.”

“Have you ever traveled with an army? Have you ever fought in a war? Have you ever dealt with competing factions?” Malden said. “That is more than any of your Shinkyan friends have done. Kelso can help you train them in military matters, and you and Ako can teach them basic Eastrilian commands.”

“I can do that,” Shira said. “I suppose I now have Shinkyans under my wing.” She looked at the Shinkyan commander.

He stood and bowed. “I am honored to serve with you as my superior,” the commander said in heavily accented Eastrilian.

~~~

Chapter Nine

~

S hira and Kelso watched troops drill in the farmyard that turned into their training ground. On one side Shinkyan troops went through sword forms, and on the other, a contingent of another two hundred local men drilled with pikes.

“You are doing fine, Shira,” Kelso said. “Your idea of bringing in local men to train by the Shinkyans has been working out. Unlike a lot of other places, you’ll have two thousand troops ready to muster when you need to, and the South Salvan men grumble less since they train in sight of your Shinkyans. Are you sure you want to go out on this patrol? You don’t have to.”

“I’ll have Ako if I need help. We don’t have magicians like the other units have,” she said. “If I could recruit some Sisters from Shinkya, I wouldn’t feel the need. I sent word, but,” she shook her head.

“You are driving Pentor crazy,” Kelso said.

“He can take it.” Shira smiled and turned to watch the troops.

It had been ten months since Shira had arrived in South Salvan, and with more trouble brewing to the north, there were troops, both temporary and permanent, strung along the South Salvan border.

Roads had been improved, connecting all the defensive positions. Shira trained her troops, and Kelso helped her with practicalities of command while she learned about tactics and strategies.

A rider came from the direction of the manor.

“My Lady, we received this message via bird today.”

Shira took the curling paper and wondered why the message couldn’t wait. The message became blurry through the tears that welled in her eyes.

“The monks located Pol a few months ago,” she said to Kelso. “Someone brought a message to Deftnis. Pol’s been working as a tanner’s apprentice. He’s alive!”

Kelso took the offered message. “His memories are still gone, but his presence of mind remains.” He gave it back to Shira. “If I had to guess, Pol will find a way out of his tannery, even with his memories unavailable.”

The message seemed to buzz in her hand. She wanted to head to a port and sail to Daera, but the message was too brief to act on, and she now had responsibilities. “I hope so,” she said, restraining her emotions. “Until then, we have to protect his land.”

“That is something we can do while we wait.”

She had seen enough. “I won’t be going on a patrol, after all. It’s time to visit Queen Isa again. Do you want to come with me?”

“Of course.”

Shira, Ako, and Kelso could no longer travel alone to Covial. Pentor assembled an escort of twelve soldiers. She made sure half were Shinkyan, and the other half were local conscripts. Nothing happened on the trip to the capital.

The entourage entered the city gates and proceeded along one of the major thoroughfares that would take them to the Castle Covial. An accident involving a carriage and a cart blocked the road up ahead, so the column moved to its right down a narrow lane.

Shira looked up and spotted men looking down on them. “An ambush!” she said as arrows began to pepper the troops.

“Can you do anything Ako?”

“Not here,” she said as her horse immediately backed out of the lane.

You need to do the same, Shira, Amble said.

Shira tweaked a shield right after an arrow brushed her calf, scoring a red-lined rent in her leather trousers. Her protection barely covered Kelso and herself.

“We have to get out of here!” she said as Amble backed behind Kelso so both of them could turn and run into the main street.

Most of the soldiers followed them, but Shira saw four bodies in the lane and their horses standing with arrows in their bodies.

Shira jumped from her horse and saw Ako heading into the corner building on the right. Shira noticed a shop door open on the other side with the shopkeeper observing the attack. She ran through the door and a curtain to the back of the shop. She found the stairs she expected and began to hurry up the stairs.

Since she had dressed as a Sister, she was armed and pulled out her Shinkyan sword. She climbed a ladder and lifted the edge of the trapdoor leading to the roof, seeing three attackers conferring.

Quietly she rose from the shop and slid behind a row of chimneys. They hadn’t seen her yet. She slipped to the other side. The assassins turned their heads when Ako attacked the men on the other side of the roof. One of them raised his bow; an arrow nocked and aimed at Ako.

Shira tweaked a gust of wind, and the arrow flew off course hitting one of the assassins. She tweaked camouflage and began to slash at one assassin’s back. The men still looked at the fight across the lane and were unprepared for an attacker on their side.

One man went down, and another moved to pull his sword out when Shira froze them all. Ako still fought the remaining two on her side. She glanced at Shira and froze her last opponents.

With the two spells, the fight ended abruptly.

“Put them to sleep!” Shira said. She did as she asked Ako to do and stood over the assassins. She was tempted to drag them over the edge and let them fall three stories to the pavement.

Ako looked down at the fallen soldiers and carried out what Shira had restrained herself from doing. The thuds on the pavement below shook her insides.

She didn’t possess the ruthlessness that Ako did. The cold act told Shira that she could never be a true Sister. She realized that she had adopted the same kind of sensibility that Pol developed.

Kelso joined her, out of breath. “We don’t need anyone on the other side, it appears,” he said looking over the parapet. “You’re hurt.”

Shira looked down at the blood running into her boot. “Not as much as he is.” She pointed to the assassin that lay in an expanding pool of blood at her feet.

“Three to talk to,” Shira pointed to the man she cut, “if we can save him.”

More soldiers reached them along with a few of Covial’s city guard. “Take them to the dungeons in the castle,” Kelso said.

~

“In my capital?” Queen Isa said.

“It was well-planned,” Colonel Horker said. The former Tesnan monk had received a promotion from the last time Shira had seen both the Queen and him at a port in Volia. He worked as the Queen’s liaison with the city and palace guard. Both of them met Shira and her party. The sleeping assassins were draped over the fallen soldiers’ mounts.

“Luckily, only one of our soldiers died. Four of the six assassins didn’t make it.” Kelso said. “We should interrogate them as soon as we can.”

“Of course,” Queen Isa said, her face serious.

Shira had seen the woman in action before, and the giggling and good nature could be suppressed when needed.

Horker led them to a guardhouse. The two men were bound and sleeping on a conference table. Tie them to chairs,” Horker said.

Shira waited for that to happen before she tweaked away the slumber on one of them. The man looked at her and pressed his lips tight. That’s all Shira needed to administer a truth spell.

The man slumped and stopped breathing.

“A ward,” Shira said. “Someone is being innovative.”

“The same magician who created the ward that stopped Pol’s little metal slivers?” Horker said.

Shira ignored Horker’s words as she tried to catch glimpses of the ward before it dissipated with the death of the assassin, but she still couldn’t look inside a person’s body.

“A very good magician did this,” she said while she turned to the Queen. “They could have just as easily killed you.”

“What do we do with the other one?” Isa said.

“Remove the ward, first.” Without Pol’s ability to see into the man’s head, she would have to remove the ward just as she eliminated mind control.

She made one last try to detect the ward, but couldn’t do it.

“Ako? Can you see inside?”

The Sister stepped up and put her hand on the man’s head. “I can do a little. I see a black oily layer. It’s just below the skull.”

“Tweak it away.” Shira thought. “Try to visualize it drying up.”

“Why do that?” Queen Isa asked.

“You can exercise more control with the removal if you visualize,” Ako said.

They gave her a few more moments until she nodded her head and stepped away. “That is the very limit of my ability.” She withdrew and sat heavily into a chair.

Shira wasted no time. The assassin opened his eyes and looked at all in the room. “I’m going to administer a truth spell,” Shira said. If the man knew what a truth spell did, he would show it, and he did.

“Let me go!” he said struggling with his bonds.

Shira tweaked truth.

He still tried to get out of his bonds, but his actions began to diminish.

“Where are you from?”

“Boxall.”  He looked from face to face. “Why am I still alive?”

“We removed the ward that was designed to kill you if someone administered a truth spell,” Kelso said.

“Who spelled the ward?” Shira said.

“I don’t know the magician’s name.”

“Where is he from?”

“She is from West Huffnya.”

Shira struggled to remember where the country was.

“It’s in the opposite corner of the Empire. Grostin has extended his reach,” Kelso said.

“How many West Huffnyans are in North Salvan?” Shira asked.

“I saw ten or fifteen. They all live in Borstall Castle and advise King Grostin.”

“What is their intent?”

“Intent?” the assassin said. “To take over the Empire, of course.”

“Why did you attack me?” Shira asked.

“King Grostin wants you and his step-brother dead.”

~

“I sent birds to the Emperor, to Ranno, and to Deftnis,” Queen Isa said. She picked at her plate in an intimate dining room in the castle. “West Huffnya. I certainly have never been there.”

Horker shook his head. “We never had an acolyte from that country.”

“Yastan will know more about them than we do,” Shira said. “Pol solved a case related to a border dispute between Barna and Vento, but no one mentioned West Huffnya.”

“Dark corners can breed evil things.” Kelso swirled the wine around in his goblet.

“Tesna Monastery,” Horker said. “I know.”

Shira wondered if the West Huffnyans had ever contacted Onkar. She would have to ask Pentor when she returned to Redearth.

“We need more magicians,” Shira said and then looked at Horker. “Can you document what we did today? Your magicians will need to know how to remove wards.” She clutched her fists. “I hate wards slapped onto people’s minds.”

Ako shook her head. “It’s not the wards you hate, but how they are used. It’s the same with most things, fire, weapons, even.”

“Not mind control and compulsion.”

“That is a use,” Ako said, chiding Shira.

“Are the Shinkyans still in Covial?”

Horker nodded. “They are. I met with them last week.”

“I need to speak with them tomorrow.”

~

Shira and Ako sat across from the bureaucrats. She had just given a status of the readiness of the Shinkyan troops.

“We still need magicians,” Shira said. “Master and Grand Master levels both. I know you’ll never manage to get an Elder to work among us.”

The bureaucrats looked at each other and smiled.

“Your repeated requests have not gone unheeded,” the lead bureaucrat said. “A few days ago, we received word that three Masters, eight Grand Masters and an Elder are to arrive within a week.”

Ako leaned forward. “From what faction?”

“Fearless. The faction has splintered. Elder Furima took part of the faction members with her. She now leads the Foxes.”

“I’m sure my Sisters and brothers in the Fearless faction celebrated into the night when they learned that. Furima can bully the Foxes to her heart’s content.”

“The factions are unstable right now. We have aligned ourselves with Fearless, as you can probably tell.”

“So, you now have the strongest military faction.”

The Shinkyan smiled. “It comes with a cost.”

“What is the cost?”

“The Fearless generals had to step down. The royal factions have put their people in,” the bureaucrat said.

Shira thought for a moment. “That still gives you the ability to create an under layer ready to replace the visible upper.”

“Perhaps,” the Shinkyan man said.

~~~

Chapter Ten

~

Pol

~

P ol was able to break away for a few days and spent them with Komagi’s family. He bathed and changed at the tiny roadside shack and then rode Demeron to the village of Homoi.

Pol looked at the two fine horses tied up at the hitching post and wondered about the visitors. He went into the blacksmith yard but didn’t find anyone. He heard voices in Loga’s shop. He observed Komagi and Loga talking to two heavily armed men. They wore armor of iron rectangles sewn onto thick cloth, and lacquered hats that looked like shallow bowls turned upside down.

“Pol, come on in. We have two Dragons with us today.”

“Dragons?” Pol said.

The two men turned around. They both had thin mustaches and a little patch of beard just below their lower lip. Their hair must have been piled on top of their heads since he didn’t see any hanging down. Both of the men looked fit, and to Pol’s eyes, they appeared fierce and dangerous. Perhaps with a name like dragons, they would be.

“Pol is from Shinkya,” Komagi said to the visitors. He turned back to Pol. “Dragons are wandering warriors and are the ones charged by regional magistrates to carry out the will of Kirian law.”

This was the first time he had heard of enforcers. The local villages didn’t seem to have any problems.

“Sit and visit. I know both of these men,” Komagi said. “I used to be a Dragon myself, a long time ago.”

Pol nodded and sat along with the others on a straw mat rolled out in the middle of Loga’s yard. He thought he understood what was going on, but he might catch the entire context if he just sat and listened. The men did look interesting.

“A Shinkyan in your midst?” one of the men said.

“Hagoa and Tenigi come through here twice a year unless needed. Thank goodness they aren’t needed,” the blacksmith said with a grin.

Komagi acted relaxed and good-natured around them. Pol took in each man’s appearance. They were rougher men than Pol was used to, and in a way, they reminded him of Fredder Banefield. That was someone Pol had tucked away into the back of his mind, just in front of all his forgotten memories.

“I am Pol.” He gave both men a curt bow. “I am told I come from Shinkya. I don’t know. Everyone thinks I was in a shipwreck and that obliterated my memories.” He smiled at the men.

“He’s been with us for about nine months. Is that right?”

Pol nodded again. “That’s close enough. I’m a tanner’s apprentice.”

The men stared at Pol. “You are the knife thrower from Soagi village? We’ve heard of you.”

Loga laughed. “He’s the one. You might wonder why we associate with such a person. He often bests Weya and me when we throw knives. He is a good friend to us all.”

Pol smiled and kept his mouth shut. No one wanted to talk about him, and he certainly didn’t want to hear it.

Tenigi lifted his chin towards Loga. “Time to talk a little business. We’ve been waiting for your lightweight armor.”

Both Komagi and his son lowered their heads. Loga spoke up. “It’s beyond my capability. If I pound the iron too thin, it’s not strong enough. I’m going to have to give up.”

“Armor?” Pol said. “What are you looking for?”

“Something light. It doesn’t have to protect like these little iron plates. Shinkyans use overlapping scales like a fish, but we can’t work steel that well.”

Pol pulled a little patch of boiled leather out of his pocket. “What about this?” he said. He tossed the stiff leather to Loga. “This could be cut like wood or pre-cut and hardened into whatever shapes you need. You could put those together like scales. The armor wouldn’t be light, but not as heavy as metal.”

“I heard about hard leather, but I’ve never seen it before. Who made this?”

“I did,” Pol said. “My master has tried boiling leather to make tough shoe soles. He didn’t know how to do it well, but I figured it out. I think you could paint it to match those helmets that you wear. The lacquer might even strengthen the leather and make it waterproof.”

“Can you make us a sample?” Tenigi said to Loga.

The young blacksmith looked at Pol. “I can with his help.”

Pol shrugged. “Why not?”

“We’ll be back in four weeks. Have a breastplate made up. We can test it.” Tenigi said. He looked at Pol. “I’d like to talk to you more, as well, tanner’s apprentice.” The two Dragons rose with surprising grace to their feet and left.

“Four weeks. Can you do it?” Loga said.

“Me?” What had Pol gotten into? “I’ll try. I still work for Bingi.” He worried as much about the Dragon wanting to see him again. He wasn’t causing any trouble.

The two sisters walked into Loga’s yard.

“Did I see the Tenigi leave?” Toira said. “They looked at Demeron for a bit before taking off. You’re spending the night, aren’t you?”

Pol smiled. “I am, but I think I’ll be spending most of it with Loga. It seems we have been commissioned to build an armor coat.”

“Breastplate. If we made a coat, it would take us twice as long.” Loga said.

The two sisters watched Pol and Loga design the breastplate. They did give them tips on how to join seams and how to properly mount the scales. It was all sewing to them.

The next morning, Pol gave them all a demonstration on how to boil leather. “The key is getting enough heat into the leather, but not too much. We don’t want to make the scales brittle.”

Loga gave up a length of strapping. Pol cut it into pieces and separated them into four groups. “This gives us the opportunity to make four different batches. If someone can write this down…”

Everyone looked at each other. “Get Father,” Loga said.

“All we know is letters and numbers.”

Pol smiled. “Same as me.” He didn’t tell them he was literate in Shinkyan and Eastrilian because no one in the village would be able to read his writing.

Loga put a large pot of water on to boil while Pol soaked the pieces.

“Water doesn’t get any hotter when it boils, so all we need to do is have it going and time the dip.”

“How do you do that?” Weya said, watching from a table. Her chin was cupped in her hands with her elbows on the top.

“I count.” Pol smiled. He took the first batch and used a wooden scoop to lower the squares into the water. He counted to fifteen and retrieved the samples. He put them out to dry and put another batch in for ten seconds. “We will wait for these to dry before we do our last two batches.”

It took four hours, but the pieces finally dried out. They were hard, and everyone was impressed with that, but they all curled up.

“Useless,” Toira said.

“Not so quick.” Loga tossed them into the cold water. “We need heavy plates,” Loga said. He retrieved the leather, which had relaxed a bit and put them between the plates. “It will take them longer to dry, but maybe the pressure will keep them flat.”

Pol ended up spending another night, but when they came out of Loga’s yard the next morning, the pieces were flat. They all retrieved awls from Komagi and punched holes at the top and strung them on a piece of cloth, overlapping the scales. The leather didn’t cover much, but Pol and Loga had proven out the process.

“When we cut the leather out, we will put in the holes as well,” Weya said.

“We?” Loga arched his eyebrow at his sister.

“We!” Toira said.

~

Pol returned with leather scraps he selected from Bingi’s storage shack a week later and was at the blacksmith’s long enough to get the process started. He couldn’t stay long since he had to strip some hides Bingi was about ready to tan.

“What is new at the blacksmith’s?” Bingi said while they ate dinner in Bingi’s shack. Pol grinned and told him about the Dragons and the process for making leather scales. Bingi scoffed at the idea of scales and then changed the subject. “I need a load of bark. We are about out, so spend a couple of days up north and fill the cart up.”

After two days filling up the cart with bark, Pol drove Demeron into the tanner’s yard. Two young men stood with Bingi.

“Your apprentice days are over,” Bingi said.

“What?”

“I’m taking these two lads in as partners. You can take your things and go.” Bingi pulled out a purse. “This is your settlement. I’ve already talked to Gonga, releasing you from your apprenticeship.”

“But—”

“No buts about it. Thanks for helping me get back on my feet.”

Pol unhitched Demeron from the cart and took his long knife from under the seat and left everything. He didn’t have much in the way of clothes, but he had made some new bags.

He hadn’t even lasted a year.  He kicked at the dirt, shoved his things into the new leather satchels, and loaded them onto Demeron along with his saddlebags. Before he walked Demeron out of the yard, Bingi hitched an unfamiliar horse to the cart. The three men were soon unloading the bark.

He passed by Bingi’s shack and knocked on the door. He heard Doara inside, but she didn’t answer his knock.

“Thank you for helping me,” Pol said through the door. “I won’t forget you. I can’t say the same about your husband.” He heard a sob but left the woman alone.

At least he had a place to go. He mounted Demeron. Along the way to the village, he washed and changed into clean clothes and headed to Lago’s smithy.

~

“I can’t keep you here for long,” Komagi said. “Lago is my apprentice, and I can barely make ends meet as it is unless that armor of yours works out.”

Pol nodded. He understood he asked a lot of his only friends, but every extra day was appreciated. Now he didn’t even have all of his Shinkyan coins to get him to the Empire. He didn’t quite know what he would do, but for right now he had to concentrate on making the armor.

They finally had all the little bits made for a breastplate. Weya and Toira had made a three-layer canvas shell to hold the leather scales. Pol looked at his little pouch and found a few glints of silver among the copper coins. Maybe Bingi had a conscience after all.

They used half of Pol’s meager funds to buy a dark blue lacquer, the cheapest color the general store in the village carried.

Pol and the sisters meticulously painted each scale. It took three coats since the leather soaked in all of the first application. Komagi contributed some wire, and all five of them spent a day cutting and threading the wire through the pieces and attaching them to a triple layer canvas shirt.

At last, they were done. Their work didn’t look as pretty as Pol had hoped, but it was lighter than the same thing in iron would be. They set it out to make sure the lacquer dried thoroughly. The Dragons could come through the door at any moment.

The fourth week came and went. Pol had cleaned up both shops and had whitewashed the blacksmith’s house by the time Tenigi walked into Komagi’s yard.

Tenigi didn’t look like a man ready to see a demonstration. Loga walked in from his yard wearing the scale armor with a wooden practice sword in his hand, grinning. He looked at Tenigi’s face, and the smile vanished.

“What’s wrong?”

Tenigi sighed. “We are going a different way. The tannery on the other side of Soagi came up with a different solution, a one-piece breastplate. It’s boiled leather like yours, but molded into one piece.”

“After all our work,” Loga said. He sat on the ground and tossed the sword. It landed at Pol’s feet.

Pol stared at the weapon and looked at Tenigi. He thought of Bingi stealing the process that he had perfected and then hiring others to work for him. Firing him was bad enough, but Bingi had stolen Pol’s future. No wonder Doara wouldn’t speak to him when he left the tannery.

He picked up the sword and advanced on Tenigi.

“It’s not fair!” Pol said, anger filling him. He soaked up the injustice of it all and lifted his sword. He focused his emotions on the Dragon. “You’ve stolen my livelihood. What am I to do now?”

Tenigi drew his steel sword and backed up, grinning. “Want to vent a little? I’m game. I can’t promise I won’t hurt you, but I am very interested to see what a tanner’s apprentice has for sword skills.”

Pol took a deep breath as the Dragon assumed a defensive stance. He recognized the strategic implications of how to approach and attack Tenigi’s pose. Just like throwing knives, Pol knew how to use the sword in his hand. His heartbeat increased with the memory. He jammed his eyes shut. His memories told him to relax. Anger would only get in the way. He had learned that before he washed up on the Kirian shore. When he opened his eyes, he took another breath and assumed a different stance than Tenigi had.

“What’s this? You’ve had a little training?”

“It seems I have,” Pol said. “Let’s have a little sparring match.” He blinked slowly and nodded.

Komagi entered the smithy with his two daughters. “What’s this?”

“Young Pol has challenged me to a sparring match,” Tenigi said. “He looks like he can swing a blade.”

Pol stood up and loosened his shoulders and resumed his stance. The Dragon advanced, wheeling his sword loosely.

Pol instinctively watched the movement of the sword from his peripheral vision but kept his eyes focused on Tenigi’s body. He saw the Dragon’s arm tense up for a blow. Pol stepped to his right just as Tenigi committed to his strike. He slapped his opponent’s sword away, turning Tenigi’s body away from Pol.  He struck the Dragon on the side. Before Tenigi turned around, Pol had already slipped his sword to the man’s neck.

The Dragon’s eyes stared as he followed the wooden blade to Pol. “How did you do that?” he said as he dropped his sword. Then the man began to laugh.

Pol stood, amazed at what he had done. “I would say, I could handle a sword before my memories were taken.”

“He’s fast,” Komagi said. “He anticipated your attack, Tenigi.”

“I have to admit I’ve slowed up a bit over time, but your moves impressed me. Did you say something about me stealing your livelihood?” Tenigi said, grinning. “I think I can give it back to you.”

Pol didn’t quite understand what the Dragon said.

“The Academy?” Komagi said.

“Pol’s obviously too young for a Dragon, although he could pass any sword proficiency test if he has more of those same moves, even now.”

Weya, Toira, and Lago looked on, confused by it all.

“You would sponsor him?” Komagi looked at Pol and grinned after Tenigi nodded.

“The boy has courage. I’m impressed that he collected himself after his childish outburst. They close the entry for the first years on the day we return to Kitanga. I think Pol would fit right in.” He looked at Pol. “Are you interested? I was disappointed you had left the tanner. I already had my eye on you and was going to ask to see you throw knives, but I don’t need to do that anymore.”

Pol didn’t think his outburst was childish, but he had lost control. He stood there wondering how accomplished he had been in his former life.

“Pol,” Komagi said. He walked up and tapped Pol on the shoulder. “Go. The Academy trains promising young men in arms and arts. I never went, but if you’re a Dragon, being a graduate is a high honor.”

“I don’t deserve such a thing,” Pol said. “I’m a tanner’s apprentice.”

“No, you’re not. Bingi, your former master, made that quite clear,” Tenigi said.

“I can make a living?”

“You don’t have to make a living for three years. That’s how long the program is. Once you’ve graduated you can get work anywhere. You do have to qualify to get in. Being a Shinkyan puts you at a disadvantage, but your sword arm may be just the thing to overcome your heritage.”

He didn’t have any other prospects other than being asked to leave the smithy at some point in the near future, especially since Loga had lost his armor order.

“It looks like I’ll follow you,” Pol said.

“You can come with us all the way to Kitanga. We’re bringing a couple of Bingi’s chest pieces. I assume that’s your mount outside?”

Pol nodded.

“All the more appropriate. That is a horse worthy of a king.”

“He is all I have.”

“Then gather your things and let’s go. I showed up here alone to deliver the bad news. We have to catch up to the others.”

It didn’t take Pol long to gather his possessions and load them on Demeron.

Weya and Toira stood together to say goodbye. They both kissed his cheek.

Loga and Komagi shook his hand. “If you learn how to write, send us a letter. I know a few villagers who can read,” Loga said, looking at his father, “like him.”

“I will,” Pol said.

Just before he mounted, Weya pulled him over to her and whispered in his ear. “If you ever come back, make sure you talk to me.” She gave him another kiss on the cheek and let him get up on Demeron and followed Tenigi.

“What did you tell him?” Pol could hear Toira ask as he rode out of earshot.

As he followed Tenigi at a smart clip through the village, he just found another reason to leave. He wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship, and for some reason, he felt guilty even thinking about it.

The pair of them rode hard for the rest of the day, rushing through the countryside. Pol noticed they passed through woods, and sometimes the vegetation would become more dense like a jungle. Villages were carved from the verdant countryside. Pol knew that towards the West, the woods gave way to open fields, and that’s where Kirians grew most of their crops and raised their animals.

They spent a night sleeping on blankets that helped cushion the thin mats the village chief provided them under the roof of the social center that every village had.

“We’ll catch up to them tomorrow morning. They can’t be more than a village ahead of us,” Tenigi said.

The village chief brought food to them.

Tenigi bowed in thanks to the man. “See how a Dragon is revered? You can be a Dragon.”

“There is a catch,” Pol said. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“You’re a Shinkyan, like I said at Komagi’s smithy. There are those who won’t accept you in Kitanga. We Kirians don’t like the outside world.  I can get you into the Academy, but you’ll have to make the right kind of friends among your peers.”

Pol didn’t think he was great at making friends. He certainly didn’t have a lot of practice as the tanner’s apprentice. Komagi and his children were friendly, but how long would that have lasted? Not long, if Weya began to get more than friendly.

The best thing Pol had done was to pick up Loga’s practice sword. He never dreamed he was proficient with a sword, but the same thing had happened when he handled knives. Pol’s hand grabbed the long knife beside him on the straw mat. How could he have picked up a mastery of arms so quickly?

He shook his head and looked at Tenigi. “What if I don’t get in?”

“You’ll make it. There are a few tests. You need a sponsor, and I am your man for that,” Tenigi said. “The rest is up to you.”

Pol nodded. “I won’t let you down.”

“I’m not worried about you, for some reason.”

~~~

Chapter Eleven

~

Shira

~

O n the first week of Shira’s first year at Pol’s manor at Redearth, a contingent of eighty soldiers, male and female, magicians and warriors, arrived at the manor, protecting ten women and one man.

“Karo Nagoya,” Shira said, as she met them in the main courtyard to the manor house.

“At your service, My Princess,” he said in Eastrilian.

“I am called Lady here.”

“My Lady.”

Shira nodded. “I will have words with you after we have you settled.  I had expected more magicians.”

“They are in command of the troops. Three Masters and two Grand Masters,” a woman in early middle age said. She looked a few years older than Ako. “I am Elder Harona.”

Shira and Ako gave the Elder a bow.

“It has been too long, Elder,” Ako said.

Harona smiled at Ako. “Indeed it has. Your standing with the Fearless was restored shortly after the rift.”

“Fifteen magicians rather than eleven. That is a nice surprise,” Shira said.

“Sixteen,” Karo said.

“A Competent?” Ako said, “and a Scorpion as well? Are you going to sting us all?”

Karo shook his head. “Our Head Elder commanded me to come and explain our position.”

“He behaved himself on our journey,” the Elder said. “He knows the ways of the Imperials better than us all, and that lightened our journey through South Salvan.”

Karo bowed to the Elder.

“I will have to make additional arrangements unless the women soldiers stay with the other forces,” Shira said.

Harona nodded. “Of course. Can we go inside? I prefer standing to riding, but I prefer sitting to standing.”

Shira led them to the large parlor. The maids and housekeeper quickly rearranged the seating to accommodate them all.

“There is an unused barracks within the compound. There are twenty-three cubicles on two floors. I have had it cleaned and swept. The accommodations are rather small, but the building is less than ten years old and was used only for a short period. There is a large kitchen, so you can prepare Shinkyan-style meals if you choose. Let me know what you want, and I will have the cook order,” Shira said.

“Elder, we have a room for you in this house,” Ako said.

Harona chuckled. “I would rather stay with my chicks. This Scorpion-rooster can take my place. He’s probably well-used to Imperial fare. I am not.”

Shira looked at Karo. “I don’t quite know what to do about you. I’ll have a talk with Pentor, the duchy’s steward.”

After a dinner supervised by Shira to better match Shinkyan tastes, Ako walked over to Shinkyan House as the women began to call it.

Karo stayed behind and asked for a word.

Shira led him into the drawing-room and sat.

He told her of Pol’s journey from the house where he lost his memories to the moment Demeron jumped into the waves carrying Pol.

“So Pol missed meeting your contact because you were separated?”

Karo nodded. “The ship limped into a small port. I had to take a local boat to what was to be our final destination. Pol didn’t show up. His contact would have provided him a safe environment until he realized he had to find a competent magician.”

“Not Competent,” Shira said, still unable to shake off her resentment of the man.

“Not in the Shinkyan context,” Karo said. “An expert magician.”

“Did you know he has surfaced, in a way?”

“No.” Karo sat straighter.

“He became a tanner’s apprentice.” Shira shrugged. “He met an Imperial sailor who eventually made it to Deftnis. His memories remained blocked. He did know his name or Demeron’s. That he was from Deftnis must have come from Demeron.”

“I knew the horse would help him. I had to argue with an Elder to let Demeron accompany Pol.”

“Not too hard, I’m sure,” Shira said. “The factions didn’t like Demeron stealing their horses, as they saw it. He is as unique among horses as Pol is among humans.” She winced inside when she described Pol’s friends that way. “What do you intend to do in South Salvan?”

“My standing with the Scorpions is…”

“Tentative, unless they banished you.”

Karo fidgeted with his hands. “I’m all but banished for losing Pol. I am to be your servant until he returns.”

“I don’t need a servant,” Shira said, but then she sat back and thought about it. “I do need a more active liaison with the Shinkyans. How many of the magicians know how to speak Eastrilian?”

“The Elder is passable. She was a Sister for brief time until someone recognized how powerful she had become. The Masters are all Sisters. The Grand Masters aren’t and can’t speak any Eastrilian. I translated for all of them when we entered South Salvan.”

As much as she would have liked to throttle Karo, she had to admit he could do things that Shira didn’t have time for or the inclination. The Bureaucracy troops still struggled to communicate with their South Salvan counterparts, and that would only be more of an impediment in the conflict that was sure to come. She had to put aside her feelings about Karo and make him part of her efforts.

“So as my liaison, I want you to teach the Eastrilian language and customs to the Shinkyans, both the Fearless contingent and the Bureaucracy soldiers. I also want you to expose the South Salvans to Shinkyan customs. We want as unified a force as we can create. In return, you can stay in the compound, but not in this mansion. I will see if Pentor will put you up in his house. He certainly has the room. He might want to learn Shinkyan, anyway.”

“I will do as you command, My Princess.”

“Lady. There is no Princess here.” Shira smiled. With a catch in her throat, she said, “I sound just like Pol.”

~~~

Chapter Twelve

~

Pol

~

O nce Tenigi and Pol caught up to the others traveling to Kitanga, Pol met the other Dragon he recognized from before along with two other young men. They were accompanying the Dragons with the breastplates that Bingi had made with his two new partners. The other two were going to try for the Academy along with Pol.

“How difficult is the competition to enter the Academy?” Pol said.

“Are you worried?”

Pol thought for a moment. “Maybe. Am I a better swordsman?”

Tenigi grinned and nodded. “Oh, yes.”

“Are there other requirements?”

“Do you read and write?”

“I only know a bit of Kirian,” Pol said. “Numbers, letters, and a few words, but I haven’t seen Kirian writing. Most people in the village weren’t literate, so most of the words I saw were written on signs.”

“That’s not an obstacle. Some of your competition aren’t any more literate than you are.” Tenigi’s eyes slid to the other two potential cadets. “What about Shinkyan?”

Pol nodded. “I think I know Shinkyan and Eastrilian, as well.”

“The language of the Imperials?”

“Yes. I knew both and maybe more. My memory may come back when I need to use it for some things.” Pol shrugged.

Tenigi looked over at Pol and grimaced. “Too much knowledge is a dangerous thing in Kitanga. I suggest that you just go along learning Kirian. Your appearance will put you at enough of a disadvantage.”

“Is Kitanga dangerous?”

Tenigi grunted. “It is. As humans get more crowded, crime seems to rise. There isn’t much work in the villages, but towns and the few cities in Kiria have their dangerous districts. Kitanga is the biggest city, so…”

“It is the most dangerous.”

“Remember that, and you’ll be just fine. Danger of a different kind exists among the better off. Always remember that.”

The danger brought to mind Fredder Banefield. The man wouldn’t have lasted in Kitanga. Regardless of where the man went, Pol probably saved his life sending him back to the Empire.

They spent another week heading south and soon entered a different world. Kitanga was unlike the villages and towns they had passed. The city rose from a lush valley floor as a mass of pyramid-shaped buildings.  The traditional thatched shacks still existed at the edges, giving way to tile roofs that gave way to multi-storied buildings. Each floor was stacked on the next with smaller stories as the buildings rose.

Roofs extended over each succeeding story with their edges curving upward. The style reminded Pol of something, but like other memories that nearly made it to the surface of his mind, he couldn’t remember.

Tenigi leaned over. “It is said that Tishiko, the Shinkyan capital, stole the style of our buildings. Have you ever been there?”

Pol shook his head. “The skyline looks vaguely familiar, but I have no idea. It is an amazing city. It only looks nice from the outside, right?”

Tenigi nodded, “Right. Who knows what you’ll uncover if you take off the roof.”

Pol tried to imagine, but his memories stayed in the back of his mind.  They entered the city proper. They passed fenced compounds that surrounded the larger towers, but Pol could see gabled tiled roofs peeking over the fences. He couldn’t imagine how many people lived in Kitanga. If the rest of the world didn’t know much about Kitanga, the citizens would have to be working hard to keep such a marvelous place a secret.

The other Dragon, Hagoa, led the party through a gate to a large compound. Men drilled on both sides with and without weapons.

“Don’t gawk, boy,” Hagoa said to one of the other cadets. Pol schooled himself not to do the same.

“Come with me,” Tenigi said as he dismounted. He glanced at Pol. “Don’t worry about your horse,” he said as he put a red tag on Pol’s bridle and one on his own. “The tag means the horse goes to an owners’ stable rather than with the Academy-owned mounts. It’s rare for a student to own his horse, but Demeron is a rare horse. The Dragons share these grounds with the Academy. The men who are exercising are all Dragons.”

Pol breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do with Demeron.

“I’ll see what I can do to spend time with you.”

Demeron nodded.

Stable boys in dark red uniforms took the horses.

“Stable these two horses together,” Tenigi said. “The black carries an Academy candidate.”

Pol followed Tenigi into one of the single story buildings. He couldn’t think of them as shacks in Kitanga. They entered a large foyer.

“This way,” Tenigi said as he walked to his right and into a room with a counter lined with standing desks and chairs in the middle.

Even the furniture was designed differently than his village, Pol thought.

“I have three cadet candidates from the villages,” Tenigi said. “How many openings left?”

“Four,” the woman said.

Tenigi made a face before he noticed Pol looking at him. “How many applicants?”

“Eight, before you brought in these village people.”

Pol curled his fists at the slight and took a deep breath. He had to control his emerging temper. No matter what the odds, Pol had to get into the Academy simply because he had nowhere else to go.

“Do you all know how to write your name?”

Pol nodded, but the other two shook their heads.

“You can fill out this form, Pol.”

Pol hated to admit his illiterate status, but he had no choice. “I don’t know many words.”

The clerk made a face at Tenigi. “They are your applicants. You can help them fill out the information.”

Tenigi began to write. “I think I know everything that’s on this form,” he said. “Sign here.”

Pol signed his name using the curvy Kirian script.

Tenigi looked down. “That looks right.”

Pol took it as a compliment. Tenigi did the same for the other two.

“From here on out you are on your own. I’ll make sure Demeron is taken care of.” Tenigi held out his hand. “I’ll try to check on you from time to time, but for the next three years, this is your home. Don’t ruin it.”

Pol nodded and pumped Tenigi’s hand. “Thank you. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.”

“Just be glad you showed a little spunk at Komagi’s smithy. This chance isn’t a gift; you earned it in the blacksmith’s yard and in that knife contest.” He turned and walked out of the building.

Pol stood with his bags at his feet.

A Dragon slid a door open. “Cadet applicants in here.”

Pol let the other two in front of him. They both looked a little older than Pol, but he was taller and in better shape than they were. All of the work at Bingi’s tannery had put on muscle along with a few more inches of height. Pol had never compared himself to others until now, and the change surprised him.

The man led them out of the building and to another with two stories. Windows lined the upper and lower floors.

“The applicants are housed temporarily on the bottom,” the man said as he led them into the building. “Don’t get too comfortable. We only have four openings, and the Dragons brought eleven cadets. Seven of you will be sent home in the next week. We have a battery of tests and the top four stay, obviously.”

Obviously, thought Pol. He would have to win, but he had no idea what the tests were, so he couldn’t prepare. He put his bags in a large woven basket at the foot of a low pallet. He looked around the room at the other cadets. All of them were young men. Like his two companions, most of them looked a little older, but not by much. Evidently, the Dragons were looking for a certain type of person. All his competitors looked strong and confident enough. Pol figured he fit right in.

He sat on the bed. None of them talked to each other, and Pol could see why. They were all competitors. Any of them could displace another.

They awaited for a few hours, and then another four candidates walked in. There were now fifteen fighting for four spots. Pol’s odds just got longer. At dusk, another Dragon walked in.

“First test. How many of you know how to read and write?”

Pol restrained himself from raising his hand. Half of the potential cadets raised their hands. Pol could see that not all of them looked very confident.

“Numbers?”

A few more hands joined Pol. Five of the cadets didn’t even know their numbers. The Academy must teach literacy if the Dragons brought so many with limited educations. The instructor had them all line up in order of height. Pol was the tallest to his surprise. He’d never really thought about his height before.

“This way.”

They followed the man through a maze of corridors and buildings to a large commissary. The man led them to a room off the dining hall and had them sit down at a table.

“We will meet here tomorrow morning,” he said. Pol wondered what kind of test that was. Serving women entered and brought them a simple meal for dinner. When they finished, others, maybe students, brought in bedrolls. “You will sleep here tonight.”

What kind of test was this? Pol didn’t have enough information to figure that out. He looked out the window to see that they were on a different side of the compound from their quarters. He tried to draw a picture of the compound and found it easy to reconstruct the layout. He must have done something similar in his past life. He had the idea that he could do more, but as usual, his mind could go no further.

None of them seemed to sleep well that night. Pol grumbled a bit when someone nudged his foot. He looked up to find their guide from the night before.

“Get up.”

Breakfast consisted of a small loaf of bread, a banana, and a cup of water.

“You will be released one at a time to find the dormitory. You will be rated on how quickly you can get from here to there.”

Pol nodded his head. He knew the way the man had shown them, but he thought there might be a quicker path.

Ten of the cadets left before Pol, but he knew where he wanted to go. He ran in the opposite direction from where they entered the building and took a few turns, following the buildings to the east. He stopped and saw the roof of the dormitory over an eight-foot wall.

Pol looked around and realized he would have to find a way over if he were to make the time he wanted. He leaped to a nearby windowsill and then used that to continue his vault over the fence. He stopped at the top and looked over at a row of thorn bushes at the bottom of the other side.

Pol didn’t have the time to keep from getting a few scratches and jumped as far away from the wall as possible. He nicked the bushes and felt the thorns gouge into his skin. He shrugged off the pain and ran to the dormitory. Someone checked off his name against a device that the person held. It was some clock. Pol had seen clocks before but not in Kiria.

He found a water basin and began to clean the cuts. He had to go to his trunk and tear some of his underwear to make bandages for his forearm, shin and back of his other thigh. He hoped the water was clean, but he wasn’t so sure how clean his underwear was.

The thought dawned on him that he knew something about healing or at least avoiding infection. Perhaps in this varied environment, Pol would get a better idea of what he knew.

The final cadet of the hopefuls arrived. The Dragon announced the results. Pol had the best time. He sighed. The pain was worth it. Pol spent the morning waiting in line at the healer’s office in the next building. There were students with worse injuries than Pol’s scratches. But eventually, his turn came.

“You’re a first year?”

“Not quite,” Pol said. “I’m still being tested.”

“Oh, you’re the one who jumped over the west fence.”

Pol looked around. “I guess that’s right. It depends from which direction you’re calling it West.”

The healer chuckled. “Only a few figure out that route, and even fewer risk the thorns. Congratulations.”

Pol didn’t know what to make of the compliment. “I just want to stay.”

After giving Pol a knowing nod, he said, “I’m sure you do.” He unwrapped Pol’s bandages. “You did a good job cleaning out these wounds. That will make my job easier.” The healer gave Pol an encouraging smile.

~~~

Chapter Thirteen

~

A fter the midday meal back at the commissary, a different person, not a Dragon, waddled in with an armful of paper and pencils.

“I am Proctor Faoga. This is more than a literacy test,” the man said. He was out of shape with all the huffing and puffing at the beginning of his instructions. “I am going to give you a printed piece of paper. I want you to count how many sides there are for various shapes on the first line. Then I want you to copy the script on the second line. Finally, I want you to draw a picture of that tower as if you stood in front of it.” He pointed to a tall tower in the distance.

Pol didn’t think that was a particularly difficult test. He got his paper and went to work. The first line consisted of line drawings of various shapes. Pol could picture the shape as if it were a real object. He counted the outside surfaces and the inside surfaces. The second line was even easier. His script looked identical to the sample. For the third challenge, Pol felt quite different. He tried to picture the bottom of the building, but he didn’t have an idea how the lower parts of the towers typically appeared. His drawing was ragged, to say the least.

The proctor beamed when Pol handed him the paper. He stood there while his paper was corrected. The man marked every count wrong. He got a perfect score on the copying exercise, but Pol had no idea how his drawing stood. The man wrote something that didn’t have any meaning to him.

Pol leaned over. “I counted the inside surfaces, too.” He said.

The instructor looked up at Pol. “What?”

Pol pointed to the simple cube. Each surface has an inside and an outside.”

“Oh.” The proctor furrowed his brow and began to recount. He made a little check by each shape. “I don’t know how to grade this,” he ended up saying. “Move please, the next candidate is here.”

Pol looked around. All the rest still struggled with their papers. “What do I do now?”

“Go back to the dormitory. There is one more test for today.” The proctor waved Pol away.

He walked back to the dormitory using a safer route. Pol lay on his bed and looked up at the ceiling. He half expected to see thatching above him, but slats of wood covered the ceiling, the whitewash was tinted a soft gray.

Pol tried to figure out why the candidates would be subject them to the tests if they were to be warriors. He wanted to be logical about it. If the purpose of the academy was to develop Dragons, then maybe his problem was that he didn’t know exactly what Dragons were. Perhaps they were more than enforcers of the law.

He rose and went outside, sitting on a wooden bench that gave Pol a view towards a garden area and a vantage point to watch the entrance to the dormitory. Men and a few women walked past him, not giving any notice until an older man paused in front of Pol.

“Are you in the proper place?” the older man said. “You are a Shinkyan, aren’t you?”

“I’m taking tests to enter the Academy,” Pol said. “I finished my test early, so I came out here to wait for the next.” He looked up at the man. “What is the Academy for? I was told we are here to train as Dragons, but it has to be more than that.”

The man smiled and sat down beside him. “That’s a good question. You must be from the villages.”

Pol nodded. “I was a tanner’s apprentice.”

The man looked surprised. “And they chose you?”

“I fought a Dragon to a draw.”

“With swords?”

Pol nodded. “It ended up being a sparring match. My opponent admitted he had lost a few steps as he got older.”

“Did you believe him?”

Pol frowned. “He looked competent enough to me, but it seems someone trained me well.”

“Seems?”

“I lost my memories, supposedly in a shipwreck. My horse saved me.”

“The big black in the owner’s stable?”

The man seemed to know a lot about the Academy.

Pol nodded. “His name is Demeron.”

The man put his hand to his chin. “That’s not a Shinkyan name.”

“It isn’t,” Pol said, realizing he was giving the man too much information. “But I don’t know what it is.”

“You seem to be a bit of a mystery. How have you been doing so far?”

Pol scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t think I’ve fared badly, except I can’t draw a tower very well.”

The man nodded and rose from the bench. “Do well. If you are selected, we will cross paths again. Good luck, Shinkyan.”

“Pol. My name is Pol.”

“Then good luck, Pol.” He walked a few steps and then turned back. “There are those among us who don’t like outsiders. I would be wary.”

The man left Pol wondering what that conversation was all about until Pol saw him stopping another candidate and having a shorter conversation with him. Was that another test? If it was, Pol wondered how he scored.

More cadets entered the dormitory, so Pol decided to return inside. A few of the young men talked to each other. Pol joined a group, interested in what they had to say.

Most of them hadn’t seen their result, but they all complained about the first section counting surfaces. Pol wondered if his inside/outside approach disqualified him.

The proctor entered with his sheaf of papers. “Everything is graded and here are the results. The man called off Pol’s name third. So Pol had a first and a third.

When the proctor had finished, Pol asked how many tests were left.

“Two more. Come with me for the next one.”

All fifteen cadets followed the proctor out the door to another part of the compound and dumped them onto a large grassy area. Pol figured this would be a physical test.

Seven older men dressed as Dragons stood by tables underneath a roofed structure. It reminded Pol of the tanning stations at Bingi’s yard except for the back wall, and the tables were about four feet wide.

“I will leave you. Proctor Anoari will explain the next test.”

Pol watched Proctor Faoga waddle away, still clutching their written tests.

The tallest of the old Dragons walked towards them. “Line up facing me.”

Pol looked to the others and took a few steps forward, looking at the man. The others followed Pol’s example.

“This is an arms test. Those of you who become real cadets will train with many different types of weapons, but we are going to test your prowess with a sword. You wouldn’t be standing in front of me if you didn’t already have some ability. Underneath that awning are wooden practice swords of various lengths and weights. Pick one that suits you. We are having a little contest.” The Dragon gave them all a number and then excused them to pick a weapon.

Pol shuffled through the weapons as the other Dragons looked on. He looked up at the men and thought that the selection of a practice sword seemed to be part of the test. Pol’s initial reaction was to select a decent one, but not the best he could find. He thought that was what he might have done under other circumstances, but Pol had to excel in these tests. He had nowhere else to go, which wouldn’t be the case for any of the others.

He shuffled through the various weights and styles and found one that reminded Pol of a cutlass, but not that. It had a curving blade, but a straight top, weighted with a top of thick wood. The sword’s weight felt right in his hand. He held on to it while he tested the other weapons and decided the sword that he couldn’t describe was the one for him. He evaluated two others like it, but the first one he chose had the right balance to suit him.

He looked up at two of the Dragons. “Do you know the name for this kind of sword?”

“It’s an ancient pattern,” one of them said. “We call it an “old Shinkyan,”

“Do you have a new Shinkyan style?” Pol asked.

One of the Dragons looked over the table and pulled out a sword that looked like a bigger version of his long knife. “This is called a Shinkyan style. It’s much more popular.” He handed it over to Pol.

If Pol hadn’t picked his ‘old Shinkyan’ sword, he probably would have chosen that one. He shook his head.  “I’ll go with this if I don’t find any cracks.” Pol inspected the blade and tapped it on a concrete base of one of the roof supports. It seemed sturdy. The thick top added stiffness to the sword. Pol felt he must have used such a sword before, but he couldn’t remember a thing about it if he had.

“All right. Take out your numbers.” The man held up one of those lacquered helmets Dragons wore and pulled out two tiles. “First up. Try not to break any bones. The match is two out of three touches. There will be five judges, so don’t complain.”

Pol would be able to look at his competition. He still didn’t know how good he was. He had only fought the once with Tenigi.  A group of spectators began to assemble. Pol looked in vain for Tenigi, but he did notice the old man who had chatted with him.

The swordsmanship varied quite a bit, but all of the participants had some training. His name came towards the end. Pol’s opponent was smaller, but he warmed up with a lot of confidence. Pol copied his warm-up technique but found his own after a few moves. If his mind had been wiped, there must have been muscle memory that hadn’t.

Proctor Anaori made the two opponents touch blades before they started. Pol let his instincts take over and took a quick step back after the start.  His opponent twirled his sword just as Tenigi had done. Pol easily defeated the candidate in the same way.

The boy’s face turned red, and Pol could see the tension in his shoulders. The twirling stopped in their second encounter. Pol stepped back again, and then stepped back again when he spotted his opponent squatting just a tiny bit for a lunge. The attack failed when the boy’s point was short by six inches. Pol quickly slapped the blade aside and poked his opponent in the stomach and grabbed onto the boy’s sword wrist as the lunge passed.

“Match to number nine,” Anaori said.

Pol stepped forward to shake hands with his opponent as he noticed other candidates doing after their matches, but the boy scowled and stalked off. He saw the older man at the bench having a few words with him.

The rest of the cadets fought until there was one left. Number fifteen had no opponent.

“Do I have a volunteer?”

Pol raised his hand. “I will.” He felt the need for more practice.

Number fifteen proved to be easier to defeat than number ten. If gaining formal candidacy at the Academy involved using a sword, Pol would have no problems, but he thought there would be more to overcome. Especially having both Tenigi and the old man remark about the trials of outsiders.

The rest of the matches were no different. Pol let the last opponent get a touch on him. His skills were unmatched among the cadets, but he doubted if that would be the case with actual cadets with more training.

“You are very fast, Number Nine,” Anoari said. “Who taught you?”

Pol shrugged. “I don’t know. I lost my memories, but I didn’t forget how to use this.”

“I noticed you picked one of the old Shinkyan swords. They rarely get used. Maybe you’ll start a trend.”

Pol doubted that, but the practice sword had served him well. He sat down on the grass to watch the consolation matches. Every candidate had to lose twice to be eliminated.

Anoari called Pol’s name to fight the winner of the losers. His last match was against a candidate nearly as tall as he. The fighter selected a long, thin, straight blade. Pol couldn’t remember the name, but he remembered using one before. This was one of the few steel practice swords, since wood that thin would break.

The proctor called both of them together. Pol would have to change his style for this match. He wouldn’t be able to jump back to evade a thrust since the sword was six inches longer than any other weapon.

He had to wipe away his opponent’s thrust, but Pol expected that opening. He glanced at his blade to see a knick where he struck the other sword. He flipped the sword over to use the blunt side, and that was more effective in countering the slashes made by his opponent. This candidate was very good. He remembered the boy tripped when fighting against his first opponent. So Pol began to dance around taking advantage of having better footwork.

Po jumped to his right and jumped again poking at his opponent and then jumped to his left. That crossed the candidate’s feet, and he stumbled enough for Pol to lunge, touching the boy’s hip.

The second match was over quickly as his opponent never regained his mental composure. Pol shook his hand.

“Your footwork spoiled the first match and the second because you lost your confidence,” Pol said.

The candidate looked at Pol. “That’s what my father tells me. I deserved to lose.”

“You did, but you can always practice your footwork, and then the confidence won’t be lost.”

His opponent gave Pol a little bow. Pol bent over and put his hands on his knees. The matches had tired him. He had had to fight more than any of the others. He looked up to see the old man talking to his last opponent. Who was he?

“The test is over. You all deserve a good meal. Tonight you get to eat in the general commissary. The last test will be an interview in the morning. By this time tomorrow night, you will know who stays and who leaves with memories of trying out for the Academy.”

Memories, Pol thought. He needed more than memories to survive. More than that, he needed a new home.

~~~

Chapter Fourteen

~

P ol chewed a fingernail, something he had never done before as far as he knew. The interviewing continued. It looked like he would be last. Being last might be good, or it might be bad, or it might mean nothing at all.

He watched the cadets’ faces when they returned to the dormitory after each interview. Some looked devastated, but some appeared buoyant. There certainly were more than four positive expressions. That just led to more anxiety.

He took a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly. It calmed him down. He could only do his best and be as honest as he could. The last of the cadets walked into the dormitory looking confident. Now it was his turn.

Proctor Faoga escorted him into the building next to where he had first registered his candidacy. They walked up a wide stairway to the second floor, and the proctor showed him to a door.

“Wait here until called to enter.” Faoga entered the room and closed the sliding door behind him.

Pol wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and cinched up the trousers’s drawstrings.

“You may enter.”

Pol walked in on a panel of five men and one woman. Pol recognized Faoga, Anaori and the older man among the group.

“Stand in front of us,” the man in the center said.

Pol did as he was told.

“You must already know that you scored the highest among the cadets.”

Pol didn’t know, but he knew he should be in the top four. “I won two of the tests,” he said.

“Faoga?”

“You made it back from the commissary to the dormitory due to your identifying a short cut. Even though you knew you would be injured, you jumped over a certain fence purposely planted with thorn bushes underneath. That indicates determination, navigation skills and a high degree of drive.  Your score in the logic exam showed the ability to present a different, and unexpected, perspective to the test. Your ability to mimic the script was the best. The only score for the drawing is that it gets done.”

Faoga looked at the old man and nodded as he sat down.

“You probably suspected my little discussion with you was part of the testing program. I found myself enjoying our short conversation. You exhibited enough ease to ask me good questions and gave me, what I suspect, are honest answers. There was no defensiveness, yet we both know there were things left unsaid, indicating measured discretion. Also in your favor was the fact that you didn’t feel restricted to the dormitory. That represents initiative. Of all the cadets, you were the most at ease.”

Did that mean he won every single test? Pol thought that impossible for a tanner’s apprentice, but then Pol was something else before. Perhaps he was trained as a noble or a scholar. Maybe he was trained from a young age at Deftnis Monastery. Could he be a priest of some kind? If so, he considered himself a very young one.

Anaori cleared his throat. Pol turned to him.

“You were superior to the other students in swordplay in both strategy and tactics. We have few cadets who are as advanced as you, especially since you came from the villages. That speaks well of you. However, your skill will have to keep improving as your fellow cadets catch up.”

That statement all but indicated Pol was one of the four new real cadets.

“You can leave us now. Our deliberations will be announced within the hour.”

Pol could hardly call that an interview. He had made one comment. ‘I won two of the tests.’ was hardly a plea to have them choose him, but he didn’t worry about being chosen. He made his way back to the dormitory. When he walked through the door, he was assaulted by some questioning looks.

He raised his hands. “They said they’d be making their decision in an hour,” Pol said.

He walked to his bed and stretched out. He closed his eyes.

Someone tapped him. “How did it go?”

Pol looked up into the eyes of the consolation winner. “I only made one comment. Everything else was a report on the scoring.”

“I bet you did well. I hope I did, too.”

“Did they ask you questions?”

The candidate nodded. “How my father is. What is honesty? Are there orders that shouldn’t be obeyed?”

Pol didn’t get any of those. He wondered if his actions gave them the answers the decision makers needed. Now he began to worry.

“Who is your father?” Pol asked.

The candidate laughed. “Lord Miraogi. He is the Finance Minister for the King.”

“And you want to be a Dragon?”

“No.” The boy snorted and said, “I’m here for the training. My father says people listen to Academy graduates. There are others who don’t want to be Dragons, but army officers. The Academy produces the best all around minds in Kiria, but it is a tough three years.”

“I didn’t know that.”

The boy smiled. “About twenty boys graduate each year. There are three years worth of cadets, and there are no more than one hundred active Dragons. The odds of being selected to be a Dragon aren’t much better than making it into the Academy in the first place.”

“They only had four openings.”

“For this week. We are at the tail end of the recruiting season. There have been fifty cadets accepted and are already in training. That makes fifty-four in our class, but nearly half are expected to drop out.”

Pol didn’t know if that was a high dropout rate or not. He vowed he wouldn’t be one of them.

The two of them talked. Pol’s friend was named Tam, short for Tamaogi. His new friend asked if Pol was short for something. Pol had to admit he didn’t know.

Proctor Faoga entered the room with another sheaf of papers. Most of the cadets circled the rotund man. Pol and Tam looked on, both sitting on Pol’s low bed.

“First, those of you who have failed, you will receive the promised reward for coming. Many of you were escorted here from villages. You will be given generous compensation for undergoing the tests.” The proctor called out name after name. The cadets took their certification of failure, good for Kirian coinage and packed up their belongings. Not many stayed to listen to the announcement of the four new cadets. Pol and Tam remained, and when Faoga called the eleventh name, they rose and walked over to join the other two successful cadets.

“You will receive a reward twice that of the failed group.” Faoga handed out the papers. Pol smiled to see his name on the page, but he couldn’t recognize more than a word or two of the rest. He hoped that would change.

“Put your belongings on your beds and lay this paper on top. Servants will take your belongings to the second floor. Come with me to get your uniforms. When we return, I’ll show you to your first-year cubicles.”

Tam grinned at Pol as they nodded to each other, and then they congratulated the other cadets. They followed Faoga back into the administration building but stayed on the ground floor as the proctor led them to the back.

“Bedding is already in your cubicle, but we will get you fitted for new boots, trousers, tunic, and vest. While you are cadets, we will identify your year by the color of your vest. Everything else is the same. You can exchange torn uniform parts here. Servants will wash your clothes. You get three sets of everything.”

Once they were measured, Faoga took them to the second story of the dormitory. There were fifteen rows of cubicles. Each row had two cubicles in each side.  “Pick an empty cubicle.”

Pol and Tam walked to the end while the two other cadets found cubicles closer to the door.  There were a couple of cubicles open at the end on the right side. Pol took the one next to the window, and Tam took the inside. Both of them had shuttered open-air windows looking out towards other buildings.

Along the head-high divider between them were beds higher than what they had slept on the previous night. They had two low storage baskets underneath. A desk was next to the bed with four hooks for hanging clothes and anything else.

Pol slipped his long knife between the bed frame and the thick woven mat that was his mattress. He had a coverlet and a bottom sheet. He put a tube-shaped pillowcase over the tube-shaped pillow. He hadn’t used a pillow at all at Bingi’s tannery, just a wadded up shirt or whatever else was handy.

Tam leaned against the sliver of wall between the two windows. “What do you think? It’s austere for me.”

“Like heaven,” Pol said. “I was a tanner’s apprentice. I had a shack to myself, but it wasn’t much larger than this cubicle.” He didn’t mention the smell or the furniture. Pol smelled the wood on the interior. It was an aromatic variety, which added to the pleasant feel to the room.

“Tanner’s apprentice? But you even corrected me with my footwork. How can a tanner know how to use a sword?”

Pol chuckled. “I lost all my memories over a year ago. My horse and I washed up on the shore close to my village. They didn’t know what to do with me, so they assigned me to the tanner.”

“You don’t remember a thing?”

Pol shook his head. “All my memories have been misplaced, but I can pick up some things if I do them. I’m pretty good at throwing knives and swordplay.”

“I’ll say. We can continue to be sparring partners, right?”

Pol wasn’t so sure he’d be an advantage once they got to more advanced techniques. “Sure, if they let us.”

A candidate wearing the same color vest poked his head into their section of the dormitory. “I wondered if any of the new guys would take this. Welcome to our class. We just got back from riding lessons.”

“Riding?” Pol asked.

The candidate nodded.

“I have my horse boarded here. I’ll get to ride him.”

“He’s in the owners’ stable? Which one is he?”

“The big black,” Pol said.

“We thought he belonged to a Dragon. Where did you find him?”

Pol grinned. “We’ve been together as long as I can remember.”

Tam laughed, but the candidate didn’t get Pol’s joke.

~~~

Chapter Fifteen

~

P ol had the impression that learning would come easy to him, but it seemed that all his instructors were out to make life miserable.  He felt especially attacked in his remedial Kirian language class. He sat with twelve other cadets learning reading and writing. He wished Tam could help him in the course, but it seemed that Pol got more homework and his scores were graded more harshly than the others.

He showed one of his papers to Tam.

“They are picky,” Tam said.

“Especially with me, but I guess I just have look at it as character building.” Pol shook his head ruefully. “Maybe it’s because I look Shinkyan. Could that be a problem?”

Tam nodded. He made a face. “It shouldn’t be the case, but it probably is. Everyone else in the Academy is Kirian, except for that Zasos fellow in the second year.”

Pol had seen him around. He had sharper features than Pol did, and Pol had sharper features than the Kirians. Pol would have to talk to him. His impression of Zasosians wasn’t good, but that was colored by rumor and speculation.

“It’s time for riding lessons,” Pol said. “At least I can forget about this for awhile.”

“You don’t need lessons. I’ve never seen such a smart horse.”

“Neither have I,” Pol said. He didn’t tell a soul that Demeron could understand people. He had taken up talking to Demeron in Kirian as he learned new words. Pol was amazed at the limited vocabulary the villagers used. He never knew that until he took his remedial classes.

The riding classes were a time for Pol to relax. He had mastered riding during his previous life, and the classes gave Pol a rest from the grind of his other classes. Demeron responded to him, and Pol found it fun to have one-way conversations with his horse.

Pol was grooming his horse after the exercise as he normally did when the riding instructor entered Demeron’s stall.

“That is an interesting saddle,” the instructor said. “I believe it is an Imperial design. I’ve only seen one or two like it when I toured the North.”

Pol remembered that the North and West was organized into unaffiliated villages. Some Kirians traveled to the north of the continent skirting to the western or eastern sides of the Zasosian plateau.

~

Pol spent two weeks in the first-year swordsmanship class before being promoted to work with second-years. Two weeks after that he worked with third-years. He began learning new techniques that his body told him he had never learned before.

He still held his own with his new class, but where his strategic fighting was always good, his tactics lacked a certain amount of flexibility. He took to the new techniques and began to enjoy the challenge.

“Do you have a sword patterned after old Shinkya?” Pol asked Anaori, the arms master.

The man looked a little confused. “Oh, that’s what you used in your trials.”

Pol nodded. “Do you have an actual sword? I’d like to see how well I can do with it.”

“I’ll check. We don’t have one in the Academy armory, but there are other sources in Kitanga.”

Two weeks later, Anaori gave him a new sword. “This is the Academy’s, but you can use it. I can see why you chose this. It’s a direct copy of one in the Royal Armory. The original is out of service. It is rumored to have come with the Shinkyans when they fled from the north to Kitanga. They didn’t like living with us and left us for what is now Shinkya.” The arms master looked at the sword. “I don’t know what these dimples are for, but the blade looks ferocious. The sword maker that produced this says he duplicated the balance.”

Pol took the blade and ran it through some practice forms he had learned at the Academy. He knew others, but he didn’t want to stick out any more than he currently did. “It has even better balance than the wooden practice sword,” Pol said.

“Care to try it out?”

Pol nodded, and the two of them stepped out into the dirt floor of the indoor practice building. The other students stopped their workouts to watch.

The blade felt lighter than he expected. It felt so natural in his hand that he must have used something like this before. He worked his wrist while holding onto the sword one last time before touching swords.

Anaori attacked. Pol didn’t jump back, now that the sword master had seen Pol do the same thing many times.  He came forward and slammed his blade into the sword master’s and drove him back with a push from his chest. The sword master, who didn’t weigh as much as Pol, slid back.

Pol could have attacked during the slide as his opponent gathered his feet and stood waiting for the man’s next attack.  He used the Kirian style defense showing his side profile and holding his sword cocked back for a slash, intended to disembowel his opponent.

The sword master paused when he saw the pose and attacked Pol from the other side. Pol twisted away from the sword master’s blade in a way he had just learned and swept his sword behind him, clashing with the sword master’s sword. Pol didn’t like that form, but he would show his teacher that he could incorporate new techniques.

The sword master began a series of thrusts that Pol parried. He jumped back after each parry as the sword master had taught him and on the last, he delivered a lightning fast riposte rather than jumping back and nearly caught the sword master in the stomach. Anorak’s blade slid past the cloth padding of Pol’s fencing jacket, just piercing the leather front.

Pol should have made a boiled leather front piece. Loga would have been able to make it.

The sword master put up his hands, breathing heavily. “Very good. I am finished for now. You are too quick, and I think we are nearly matched. I don’t know what else to teach you.”

“Practice breeds perfection,” Pol said.

The sword master grinned. “It does. Maybe I can persuade a few Dragons to give you a match.” He put his hand to his chin. “Why don’t you help me teach the others?” Anoari looked over at the cadets who had stopped to watch their match. He motioned to them to get back to practice.

“I’m willing,” Pol said.

“I’m glad you are.”

~

Pol had finally finished his remedial Kirian class and started to attend strategy classes. The classes weren’t about the policing the Dragons did but focused on preparing for war. The class had first and second-year cadets. Pol sat next to the Zasosian second-year.

“These strategies are to be used against your people?”

The candidate nodded. “It is good information to know,” he said in accented Kirian. “None of these people realize the difficulty of climbing the plateau. There are few roads, and most of them are cut into the rock.  They are very defensible.”

“Are you a nomad?” Pol said.

The young man snorted. “Heavens no. A nomad wouldn’t want to be here. I live in Axtopol, our capital city. My father is a Clan Lord, and he sent me here for polishing. The Academy accepts a Zasosian every ten years or so. It cost my father a lot of money to persuade the Academy to take me.”

“I’m Pol.”

“My full name is Akil D’Boria. Boria means hawk. It is the name of our clan. You can just call me Akil.”

They both turned their attention back to the instructor, who asked a question about supplies.

“Supplies are as important as soldiers,” Pol said.

“And what children’s book did you read that from?” the man said. The other students laughed. The teacher obviously didn’t like Shinkyans and probably disliked Akil even more.

“I can’t tell you. It is locked away in my memories.”

“A convenient excuse.”

“You can ask me more questions to see if my children’s book was suitably instructive,” Pol said. He used better words after his Kirian class and still studied the Kirian dictionary to learn more.

The instructor narrowed his eyes. “What is the order of battle?”

Pol didn’t have to think. “There is no set order of battle until we locate our opponent and his forces are evaluated. You also have to analyze the field to see where your force placement will be most advantageously applied during a battle. Then you have sufficient information to set your order of battle.”

“And if you don’t know those things?”

“Then you don’t fight. You withdraw until you have as much control over the battle as you can. Once the battle starts, your strategy can dissolve before your eyes, so you have to be ready for some surprises.”

The instructor walked to the side of Pol’s desk and looked down at him. “You seem to have some experience.”

Pol shrugged. “I might. My memories don’t hold any actions, just information.”

“Can your memories fight?” the instructor said. “I think you are lying.”

“You don’t have to accept my claims. Please check with Master Anaori.”

The man narrowed his eyes at Pol. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Pol breathed in deeply and let his breath out slowly to keep his head cool. There were teachers who tolerated Pol. He thought that Anaori liked him, but others, like this man and the Kirian language teacher, didn’t like him at the Academy.

“I thought I was the only one,” Akil said he walked behind Pol out of the class.

Pol nodded. “They give you a rough time, too? Why did they accept you?”

“I came with the understanding that I would return to Zasos. There has never been a war between our two countries. I don’t think it would be possible.”

“Because of climbing the plateau?”

“That is part of it. The Kirians that know us understand we don’t have anything they want, and the same holds true with Zasosians. Their village economy wouldn’t work since not much of our land supports a fixed location population.”

Pol wasn’t sure he believed that. “And the reverse is true? The Zasosians wouldn’t want to feel confined by forests and jungles?”

Akil nodded his head firmly. “Exactly. We don’t have a king and like it that way.”

“So you are here as a token of understanding?”

The second year candidate snorted. “You could say that. My real reason is that there are too many sons in my father’s household. Only one of them can be the next Lord Boria. My brothers talked my father into getting rid of me for three years. When I return, I’ll still never be trusted to run the family.”

“Then why come?”

Akil grinned. “Connections. Even though there is no land envy, there are opportunities for trade, and with relationships established in Kitanga, I intend to start a trading company.”

“Why put yourself through all the military training?”

Akil stepped out into the sun and looked at the sky. “Zasos is first and foremost a warrior country. Our swordsmen are fierce, but technically?” He shook his head. “The clans outside of Axtopol fight small-scale battles many times a year. There is much glory to be won.”

“Even for me?” Pol asked facetiously.

Akil was serious when he said, “Even you.”

~~~

Chapter Sixteen

~

Shira

~

A fter the Redearth flood in the spring, Shira welcomed more visitors from the west.

“This is a surprise. Fadden, Paki,” Shira said grinning and holding a hand of each man. “It is so good to see you. Come in, come in.”

Karo sat at a desk and shot to his feet when the two former monks walked into a study converted into a logistical office. Shira noticed his discomfort.

“You know Karo,” Shira said.

“How could I forget?” Paki said, looking at the Shinkyan with cold eyes.

“In a sense, he works for Pol now,” she said. “We spent a busy fall and winter educating both Imperials and Shinkyans about each other’s cultures, and Karo has been a big part of that.”

“Makes sense,” Fadden said. He put out his hand. “Shira wrote us about your role in saving Pol from certain murder.”

Karo nodded, but not too enthusiastically as he took Fadden’s hand.

Paki grinned. “I’ll bet you were scared, huh? Serves you right, but you’ve paid for your actions.” He shook Karo’s hand as well.

Shira sighed. “Now that that’s out of the way, what brings you to South Salvan? The border is treacherous for two.”

“Not two,” Fadden said with a smile. “We raised another four hundred mounted troops who wanted to travel a little. Brought healers, both magical and mundane, as well as some magicians. We wanted to get them settled in before we headed to discuss certain items with Queen Isa.”

“Mounted troops? How will I feed them plus their horses?”

“That will be no problem,” Fadden said. “Most of them are sons of farmers. We brought seed with us as well. Akonai told us that half of the Redearth lands lay fallow every other year or two. And we also brought enough portable supplies to build new barracks north of you. Three of the officers have building experience, and, if you agree, we will turn the farm buildings that you are using into a fort. You need one somewhere in the Duchy; it might as well be there.”

Shira had to sit. “You thought of everything?”

“No. We didn’t figure out how to bring Pol out of Daera, but there has been an interesting development there as well. A Daeran made contact with Deftnis a few months ago.”

“Did he know where Pol lived?”

Fadden’s face deflated a bit. “No, but he comes from a country that makes up the high plains of Daera called Zasos. I won’t bother you with all the details right now, but if you need to enter Daera, his country might be a better entry point than Kiria. From all we can tell, that country hates Shinkyans.”

“But Shinkya trades with them.”

“Trade excuses some sins, but that makes Pol’s living there with a Shinkyan face a bit troublesome.”

“Will they kill him? I’m confused. He is a tanner’s helper. Why would he find employment if they hated him?”

“Do you know where tanners fit on the social scale?” Fadden said.

“Oh.” Shira did know but hadn’t ever really tried to create a pattern for Pol in Daera. “And if the Kirian enmity isn’t well-known, then the Scorpions unwittingly put Pol into a difficult position.”

“Potentially,” Fadden said.

Ako ran to the door. “Fadden!”

“There is the person I’ve been writing to for all these many months,” Fadden said, his face bright. He put out his arms and Ako ran into them, her eyes were watering.

Shira couldn’t help get a little teary as they all watched the reunion.

“You didn’t tell me you wrote to Fadden,” Shira said.

Ako squeezed Fadden’s arm. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

Pentor stepped into the room, holding a curled message. “There has been an incursion to the east. The conflict may have begun.”

Shira introduced Pentor to Fadden and Paki. Evidently, the army that accompanied them was three days away.

“We can use your healers,” Shira said.

“Your healers. They are on semi-permanent assignment to Redearth by Deftnis and Imperial decree,” Fadden said

“The Emperor?”

“Of course,” Fadden said. “Queen Isa and Hazett communicate on a regular basis.”

Shira sat down. She had more than two thousand troops at her disposal if all of the trained commoners were called to protect Redearth.

“My Lady,” Pentor said.

She bounced up from her seat. “Let’s go into the war room.”

“War room?” Fadden said.

“The manor house has a ballroom, but without the Duke in residence, there will be no balls. We converted it into a place to plan,” Pentor said.

Shira looked at Fadden’s face when he stepped into her war room. Detailed maps of Redearth all the way to the northern border hung on the walls as well as a map of southern North Salvan and South Salvan extending south to Covial, including Tesna.

“Pentor, where is the incursion?” Shira said.

“My Lady,” Pentor bowed and walked to a large table with a smaller version of the map on the wall painted on the surface. There were three more tables of the same size.

Shira looked at Fadden’s face. He nodded to her. “I’m impressed.”

“We will have the opportunity to modify our strategy with mounted troops.”

Fadden cleared his throat. “I can’t vouch for their training, Shira, but an experienced commander leads them, Captain Corior. He will arrive with his troops.”

“Training is something we have experience with,” she said trying to restrain her smile. “Go on, Pentor.”

The duchy’s steward read from a document and picked up a long thin rod that he used as a pointer. “They took this village,” he said, pointing to a dot on the map on the border directly north of Covial. “A force of five hundred men.”

Shira grabbed some objects from underneath the table. “The Queen has troops stationed here and here.” They bracketed the village. “Four hundred men for each force.”

“If they converge, your borders will have large gaps.”

“For a few days only,” Shira said.  “There are reserves, but not regular army, staggered behind the border.” She put more blocks on the map and looked down. “I never, ever wanted to use these,” she said. Shira didn’t want to fight a war, but her sentiments didn’t matter. She had pored over the military texts in the manor’s study for a year and a half. She would protect Pol’s estate.

“Kelso taught me that you have to build flexibility into your plans because they don’t last long. The Queen has permitted us to train as many who are willing to defend their homes.  These reserve forces will move towards the spaces vacated by Queen Isa’s army. At the same time, the countryside will be alerted and will assemble at fields that have been pre-supplied.”

“South Salvan is already on a war footing?”

Shira nodded. “I can’t afford to lose Pol’s estate while he’s gone. We fight for Covial and Shinkya, as well, although we all believe that war won’t happen for years yet.”

~~~

Chapter Seventeen

~

Pol

~

P ol enjoyed teaching swordsmanship to the other first-years. Anaori mentioned it was good to have a candidate help him, and he did what he could to earn the sword-master’s praise. It gave him more incentive to continue his studies to graduate. He had to be prepared to find work after he left the Academy.

Tam helped Pol with some of the other studies. He didn’t know a thing about Kirian history and knew nothing about geography, especially when it dealt with the world outside of Daera.

Weeks bled into months, and the last of the first-year cadets were ready to become second-years. More cadets in their group had left the program, but that didn’t matter.

Pol was sorting the practice swords, both wooden and steel, checking the state of the blades when Tam walked over.

“My sister told me that Father has invited me to celebrate the end of my first year. Can you join us tomorrow night?”

Pol’s only engagement was anticipating the start of the second year by reading a boring explanation of the advantages of positioning harbors. “I guess you can’t learn everything about Kirian society from books,” he said.

“No, you can’t. Just wear your uniform, and you’ll be fine.” His friend grinned.

Pol was reticent to encourage involvement in the opposite sex. Something pulled him away from the thought. Anxiety filled him, despite Tams’ efforts to comfort his fears.

Tam didn’t live far enough away from the Academy to require horses or one of those palanquins that nobles liked to use. The night was pleasant and gave the promise of a dry evening. Tam looked excited.

“I haven’t been home for two months,” Tam said. He looked anxious, but couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

His friend’s excitement was infectious, and Pol found himself smiling as Tam talked about his home.

“You’ll meet my sisters.”

“No brothers?” Pol asked.

Tam shook his head.

“So you are the heir?”

“I am. The sole heir, and let’s not talk about it.”

Pol somehow knew there was extra pressure on an heir. So he didn’t ask any more questions. It did make more sense that Tam’s drive to graduate from the Academy was as much for him as it was for his family.

“We are here.” He led Pol inside their house.

A servant ran towards the door and sighed when he spotted Tam. “You are to knock when you arrive, young master,” the older man said.

“It’s all right,” Tam said. “Is everyone here?”

“Here? Is the family supposed to be home?”

“I was told there was a party tonight.”

“At the palace, young master.”

Tam looked confused. “Loala said there would be a party to celebrate my first year.”

“At the palace. There is a gala at the palace. She must have meant to say they would celebrate there.”

Pol looked at his crestfallen friend.

“Why don’t you go to the palace? Academy cadets are generally welcome.”

Tam looked at Pol. “To the palace?”

“I suppose so. I’ve never been,” Pol said.

“Ex-tanner apprentices are rarely invited, but Academy second years might be admitted,” Tam said, grinning. He looked at the servant. “We’ll be going now.”

Tam and Pol were out on the street. The sun hadn’t set yet, giving them a bright path to the palace.

“It’s not far,” Tam said. “But we will have to leave early to make it back to our dormitory on time.”

Pol matched Tam’s quick pace as they threaded their way through streets that became more crowded. One of the taller groups of towers was now in front of them.

“Is that the palace?” Pol asked.

“It is indeed. You’ll be meeting my family in a few minutes.”

Guards stopped them at the palace gates.

“I’m the son of the Finance Minister,” Tam said. “We are cadets at the Academy.”

“I’ll vouch for them,” a man behind them said. He was the older man Pol had talked to on the bench. Pol thought the man was a teacher at the school, but he hadn’t seen him since his last interview.

“Second years. Are you proud of yourselves?” the man said.

Tam nodded politely. Pol didn’t respond.

“I haven’t introduced myself to Pol, Tamaogi. I am Headmaster Wigaori of the Academy.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Most trial cadets don’t know. I had to swear Tam to silence. I keep a low profile around the cadets, or some will continually seek out favors.”

Pol looked at Tam, who nodded. His friend didn’t look particularly comfortable around the Headmaster.

“I am impressed with your progress. I assumed the swordsmanship aspect wouldn’t be a barrier, with the way you won that test. Now you assist our sword-master. You can read and write Kirian as well as most of our graduates, and you bring fresh ideas to our classes.”

“Sometimes the instructors think my ideas are too fresh,” Pol said.

“They are wrong. You keep at it. The second year is less about the military aspects of life and more about the cultural. This is the year when you will master Kirian law and learn about the greater world. I think you will do well with that, too,” the Headmaster said.

The man intimidated Pol, but then he wondered why. It was the position that made the difference in his attitude. Why would a position make Pol think differently about someone? He sensed that he had just pulled himself from a wrong path. He realized he shouldn’t judge people by their titles, but by what they are.

“Do you come to the palace often?” Pol asked.

Tam gave Pol an alarmed look, but Pol just shrugged Tam’s concern off.

“Too often,” Wigaori said. “But the Academy is the better for it. What brings you here, Tam?”

Tam cleared his throat. “My parents were going to celebrate my second-year status. I guess they meant for me to come here to do it.”

The Headmaster looked at Tam. “I doubt it. Do your sisters ever prank you?”

“P-prank?” Tam said.

Wigaori nodded. “You can’t get in tonight’s gala without an invited escort. They’ll just turn you away at the door, even if you are cadets tonight. But you two are in luck.”

“We are?” Tam said.

“Will you be our escort?” Pol said.

The headmaster nodded. “Right you are, Pol. We will show your sisters. I think the both of you will have a good time just standing around looking proper in your uniforms.”

They came to another set of guards. “Three of us from the Academy. Headmaster Wigaori and two cadets.”

~~~

Chapter Eighteen

~

Shira

~

S hira watched Ako talking to Fadden in the stables. She had to admit jealousy tinged her thoughts. How much she wished she could replace Ako and Pol replace Fadden standing close, intimate, holding hands, and quietly communicating on a few levels.

She turned away and walked back inside the mansion. Shira stepped into the empty war room. Grostin had kept testing the South Salvan borders for a year now, but had yet to test her defenses.

The flexible strategy that had been so successful could only be effective for so long.  Each incursion went about ten miles into South Salvan territory and then withdrew. The fighting never amounted to much.

Fadden didn’t have experience fighting wars, but he understood what he saw, and he voiced concerns that matched her own.

She pulled the letter that Ranno Wissingbel had sent giving her some advice and perspective. The Emperor continued to build his forces. The expected rebellion in West Huffnya hadn’t revealed itself, but the flow of magicians and men to North Salvan had. As long as King Grostin used forces of less than two thousand men, the Emperor wouldn’t react.

Shira looked at the big map of South Salvan’s northern border on the wall. Karo had used a tall ladder and pasted red pieces of paper in every spot Grostin had penetrated into South Salvan. There were three obvious gaps, but the biggest was north of Redearth.

She had two mixed forces of five hundred, including magicians and healers, positioned a day’s march from each other.  Her major flex point, as she called it, was the fort that now sat on the farm where the Shinkyan soldiers first camped. All the soldiers called it Little Tishiko. Even Elder Harona who helped train anyone in the duchy who showed magical talent used the name.

A soldier ran into the room, followed by Fadden and Ako. “Eight hundred troops have crossed the border here.” The soldier pointed to a stretch of rolling farmland.

Shira looked at that point. It was only a few hours from the easternmost force. Karo ran into the room. “You have messages?”

The point of penetration was a break from Grostin’s other incursions. Shira didn’t catch the pattern but recognized it as a deviation. “Fadden? Ako? Grostin is doing something different.”

They both nodded as the Elder arrived, escorted by Pentor and Captain Corior. “It is finally our turn,” Shira said. “It’s nearly a relief.”

A possible pattern materialized in her mind.  “No convergence. That’s what we’ve done every time. This time, we let them penetrate further into South Salvan. We want them to funnel into this little valley here.” She pointed to farmland that had a lazy river flowing through it. “Let them cross the river and then send the harrying troops to seal off the valley. In the meantime, our main force from Little Tishiko moves northeast to the bottom of the valley. Our citizen army is to be activated and man the slopes on either side. Make sure you get as many archers as you can to join us.”

“You are setting a trap?” Paki said. “What if they don’t want to be trapped?”

“I’m relying on farmhands and blacksmiths and shopkeepers with weapons in their hands to keep them heading in the right direction,” Shira said. She meant her words. Those additional forces had been trained to fight delaying actions, and their skills would be applied to flanker duty that would be critical to this fight.

Shira wanted to ride north with the forces from Little Tishiko, but one of the Grand Masters offered to carry the birds that would provide the manor with information and receive commands from Shira and the others.

The Grand Master left with a few armed men from the estate as Kelso rode up.

“There is movement to the north,” he said.

“Come inside.” Shira turned around and let him follow. “See what we’re going to do.”

Grostin’s forces were black, and Shira’s Shinkyans were blue, with red blocks representing the local forces, and the Imperials were white.

“Going to bottle them up?”

Shira nodded. “Our magicians will eliminate mind-control and compulsion from four sides.” She had thought of that at the last minute. “And then we will exterminate or capture every single troop. Our goal is to eliminate the fighting force. We need to know if this is the same force employed many times along the border.”

“They have changed their strategy a bit?” Kelso pointed to the proximity of the penetration to the troops.

“So instead of driving them out, we let them advance.”

“Are they that stupid?” Pentor said.

“This is a test. Eight hundred men will not be enough to occupy South Salvan now,” Shira said. “That is the pattern that I see.”

They continued to talk about contingencies while waiting for word. The earliest a bird would arrive would be in the morning.

“I suggest we all get a bite to eat and relax as much as we can.” Shira led them out of the war room.

~

The morning sun seemed brighter than usual. Shira woke from a restless night and splashed water on her face. She decided to dress as a Sister. That was the closest to a uniform that she had, and she buckled on her sword. She wanted to feel the weapon at her side as her soldiers, Pol’s soldiers, fought.

She ate with Paki, Fadden, Kelso, and Karo. Ako had already eaten, and Fadden said she wanted to groom her mare to relieve the tension she felt. Shira suddenly had the urge to do the same, but she restrained herself.

Breakfast went slowly, but she finally jumped up and hurried to the war room. Pentor was already there, pacing back and forth. Ako came in with the others.

The wait was interminable, but two hours later a messenger delivered a fistful of messages.

Pentor read them out. Each message had two sides, one side for writing and the other with tiny maps drawn to show the positions of the troops.

“The enemy troops took the bait and marched to the valley pursuing a four hundred troop contingent.” He tossed that message on the table.

“The citizen army was late reaching the east side of the valley. The army began to flee to the east when they spotted the Little Tishiko army.” He laid that message on the table as well.

“The Little Tishiko army split with one heading northeast and the other continuing from the south. The magicians eliminated mind-control and compulsion. The enemy force buckled when that happened.”

Pentor put the last message up to his face. “Small writing,” he said and squinted at the next message. “All the forces converged on the enemy. Fighting broke out. So far, one-third of the enemy’s force have sustained casualties, less than ten percent on our side. Many prisoners.”

Shira sat down. Her first command resulted in a victory.

“Ten percent!” Paki said. “Pol would be proud, Shira.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Pol would appreciate the success.” What she didn’t say that ten percent meant one hundred or more of her precious soldiers had been injured or had perished. The loss devastated her.

Her eyes drifted over to the war board with the colored blocks of wood. It was easy to think of the battle as blocks of wood, pieces in a game, but the reality wasn’t pretty.

She had been in war before. The battle at Borstall was bad enough, but she knew few of those people. The Queen’s bodyguard, Kolli, had died, and Pol had lost his father. There were bodies surrounding her, but they weren’t her bodies. They weren’t her people. Shira felt responsible.

She wished the victory would smell sweet, but she recalled the stench of death on the Borstall city wall. No sweetness there, nor here. Shira took a deep breath and stood.

“A moment of silence for our brave troops,” she said. The war had just begun for her. With a rush of guilt, she realized she was glad she hadn’t gone to the battlefield. With sadness, she knew there would be other opportunities.

~~~

Chapter Nineteen

~

Pol

~

W alking into the Kirian palace with the Headmaster and Tam didn’t impress Pol as much as it should have. Perhaps in his former life, he had been inside castles and palaces before. The Kirian style intrigued him. There were fine examples of cast concrete and carved wood. Everything was clean and had a sheen to it that Pol detected, but didn’t quite understand.

“Impressive, right?” Wigaori said. “Magicians made the carvings, and anyone can feel a touch of their power.”

The palace was a far cry from Bingi’s shacks. They joined others walking into a large room. Pol looked up to see banners flying from the ceiling. Some were crude, and some were elegantly designed.

“Every Kirian village, town, and city has a banner hanging in this hall. One of the former kings created this ceiling, and now it is part of Kirian lore. All supplicants to the king have a flag up there. It’s more than a reminder to the king that he has the responsibility for all Kirians, but it is a source of pride for those who visit.”

Pol hadn’t noticed any unique design to the village of Soagi, but a banner from his former village had to be hanging from the rafters.

Tam pulled on his sleeve. “There are my sisters.”

Pol looked at two young Kirian women talking to two young Kirian men as Tam gave Pol a push in their direction.

“Tam,” one of the women said. “What brings you here?” She smiled slyly.

“I came with the Academy Headmaster. He said that there were a few vermin running around the King’s Hall.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Where is Father?” Tam looked like he was used to dealing with his sisters.

“Standing with the King along with all the other sycophants, I suppose.”

Tam scanned the hall. “There is the King.” He pointed, and Pol saw the tall conical hat that the Kirian Kings wore. “Let me introduce you to the King of Kiria. He’s a relative.”

Pol raised his eyebrows. He didn’t know that Tam had royal blood, but then what did a tanner’s apprentice with severe memory loss know?

They approached the king. Tam moved into the King’s line of sight.

“Tam! It has been awhile. You’ve been sequestered at the Academy for so long. Come over here.” The king of Kiria gave Tam a hug. “Who is your friend?”

“This is Pol. He is a classmate.”

“The swordsman?” the king asked.

Tam nodded.

“I’ve heard about you. Shinkyan, eh?” The king raised his lip into a near-sneer.

Pol didn’t like the tone of the king’s voice.

“I suppose, but I lost my memories.”

“You didn’t forget how to wield a sword. Enjoy yourselves before returning to the Academy,” the king said, brightening up a bit.

Both of them bowed to the king and let Tam’s father take them away from the king’s group.

“You found a way to get in here?  Good for you.” He punched Tam in the shoulder. “That’s the kind of initiative I want to see. This is your Shinkyan friend?” The man looked at Pol. “I am Lord Miraogi. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to see me.”

Pol dipped his head. “Thank you, My Lord.”

His father waved away Pol’s thanks. Pol didn’t think Tam’s father meant what he said.

“Your sister thought she was so smart.” Lord Miraogi laughed. “I’m happy to have you show up. Feed your faces and then leave.”

Tam pulled Pol away from his father, who rejoined the king’s admirers. He grinned and looked up at the rafters. “Thank you, Headmaster!”

“For what?” the headmaster said walking up behind the two young men.

“My sisters’ prank backfired. The King hugged me. Now we can eat.”

“No dallying with the girls?”

Tam shook his head. “If I get started doing that, I won’t want to leave, and we have to get back to our dormitory.”

The headmaster nodded. “Good choice. I’m glad I was able to make your evening enjoyable.” The man turned to Pol. “See me in my office tomorrow. I’m in the administration building.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pol wondered what that was all about. He suddenly wanted to be elsewhere. He had just schooled himself not to be intimidated, and yet the prospects of a meeting with the headmaster made him worry.

“Don’t make a big thing of our meeting, Pol.” He turned and walked away.

Pol felt a bit better. He guessed his anxiety showed on his face. He would have to do a better job of hiding his feelings.

“I’m suddenly hungry,” he said. Pol needed to redirect his mind by changing the subject.

~

Pol’s experience the previous night disturbed him. He hadn’t acted in as controlled a manner as he should have. He wondered if his memory loss included losing social skills. Other than Tam, Pol didn’t mix with the others, and they didn’t mix with him. The aspect of getting acquainted didn’t come easily, but Pol figured he had another two years to make the kind of connections that he needed to fit into the higher levels of Kirian society.

He still felt the sting of being a Shinkyan. One of the king’s first remarks was on his background, and Tam’s father described him as a Shinkyan friend to his son. He wondered how much the problem he felt was himself or his appearance. Tam hadn’t heard of a Shinkyan cadet before.

The difference between a first-year and a second-year was a move to another building and new classes the next day. Tam and Pol moved before breakfast, so they could get cubicles in the same place on the ground floor of the building that housed the second and third-years. The only good thing about the move was that the new building was closer to the commissary.

Pol looked at his class schedule and noticed a big blank area. He sighed and got up from his tiny desk chair and headed to the administration building. Luckily, the headmaster was currently unscheduled, so Pol walked in on the man working through a few piles of paper.

“You’d think that only having so few students would make for a manageable amount of paperwork,” Wigaori said, shaking his head. “Have a seat.”

Pol sat and sighed. Wigaori looked up from his work.

“Sorry,” Pol said. “I’m a little nervous.”

“I don’t know why. I’m not going to eat you. I wanted to talk about your helping Anaori.”

“Oh.”

“I’d like you to continue to help him with all third-years.”

“Won’t that affect my graduation?”

Wigaori shook his head. “He has agreed to work in the afternoons, and that will free up mornings for you. If there are scheduling problems, we can arrange for our instructors to tutor. Is that agreeable?”

“Is there a reason for this?”

The headmaster looked away from Pol for a moment. “Quite frankly, I get a few complaints from time to time from faculty and other cadets about your heritage. I thought making you a staff member might solidify your position at the Academy.”

“Am I putting you in a difficult position?”

Wigaori shook his head. “No, no, no. I’m doing this because you show a great deal of promise.”

Pol couldn’t think of a reason to say no. He enjoyed working with Anaori. He kept promising sparring matches with the Dragons, but that hadn’t happened so far, but he was gradually getting the upper edge on the sword master.

“There is pay involved?”

The headmaster smiled. “I wondered when you’d ask. You’ll get what the other course assistants get. Seven silver falcons a week.”

Pol’s eyebrows rose. Bingi struggled to make that in a year in Soagi, the tanner’s village. He wouldn’t be paying Soagi prices for goods in Kitanga though. “I’ll do it.”

“I thought you would. Go to Anaori this afternoon. He’ll be glad to see you.”

Pol walked out of the headmaster’s office feeling much, much better than when he went in. An instructor. He wondered what Tam would think of his new circumstance.

“That is an expression of confidence,” Tam said. “I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Did I make a mistake?”

Tam shook his head. “None of the cadets can match you with a blade. You have no family connections to rely on. That’s the difference between you and me. If I left the Academy, my life would go on, but what could you do if something happened? There would be no guarantee that the Dragons would take you in.”

“Having a job results in less risk, eh?” Pol asked.

“Right. I’m still disappointed.”

“You are?”

Tam grinned. “I can’t rely on you to help me with my homework, now.”

~

Pol realized he had gotten used to the Academy life. It had become easy for him, and now, having to juggle his afternoon job with learning about the Kirian political history and the language of the Zasosians, life became more hectic.

Over time, Pol looked upon the weapons work as his idle time.

“How are you doing with your Zasosian studies?” Anaori said. “Do you talk to Akil very much?”

Pol nodded. “I do. I’m picking up the language pretty well. He said that there are more Dragons assigned in the north at their border than in any other region. That might be a good place for me.”

“That is a tough assignment for most. Still aiming to be a Dragon?”

“What else can I do? Shinkyans are not allowed to hold public positions in the capital.”

“You found that out recently?”

Pol nodded. “Ancient Kirian history. The Shinkyans fled to Kiria from the northern part of the world and lived in the region for a few decades. Of course, it wasn’t Kiria then, but they began to take over the place, and the people expelled them.”

“That’s about all I know,” Anaori said.

“It couldn’t have been a war since Kiria and Shinkya trade with each other. Kiria doesn’t trade with any other nation except for Zasos.”

“We are proud of our isolation. We live at the bottom of the world and like it,” Anaori said.

“A word comes to mind, insular.”

“That describes the way we feel.”

Pol twirled a sword in his hand. “Does my being a Shinkyan bother you?”

Anaori laughed. “You don’t act like a Shinkyan. I’ve met enough of them. They think they are better than us. I don’t buy it, of course. You don’t have that unearned swagger that they have.”

On a personal basis, Pol didn’t feel threatened, but the Kirian experience of aloof Shinkyan behavior made it hard on him. Pol didn’t feel any alliance towards Shinkya. He’d never even seen one since he lost his memories. However, he didn’t feel like a Kirian, either. Some Kirians treated him like an adopted son, but most were obvious in their disdain. Pol found it ironic that the Kirians treated him like they thought the Shinkyans treated them.

Pol didn’t let it bother him very much. All he had to do was think of his early days in Kiria. No one liked tanners around them, Shinkyan or not.

Tenigi walked up. Pol hadn’t seen him for months. “I think Demeron is feeling abandoned.”

Pol smiled. “No, he isn’t. I get up early before classes to exercise him.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“You do now. Demeron knows, and he’s the important one.”

“How are you two getting along?”

“Fine,” Anaori said. “Is anything wrong?”

Tenigi shook his head. “No. Hopefully, I have some good news. Some Dragons have heard about a certain Shinkyan swordsman and would like to spar with him.”

“I don’t have the time for that,” Pol said.

“Yes, you do,” Anaori said. “We can have the cadets observe the matches and pick apart what they see. You and I are getting to know one another’s techniques a little too well.”

Tenigi picked up a sword and looked at Anaori. “Are you getting bested?”

“We’re evenly matched,” Pol said. Pol generally beat him four matches out of six.

“Then it’s time to change that,” Tenigi said.

“I guess that’s something to look forward to. Can I listen to the critiques?”

“Of course. Sharpening skills is what the Academy is all about,” Tenigi said.

~

A few weeks later, the first Dragon showed up at the end of an afternoon’s work.  The cadets had already left the field. The man walked up to Anaori. “Where is my opponent?”

“Here I am,” Pol said. He was cleaning swords back in the arms shack. He came out with the old Shinkyan sword in his hand, wearing a practice vest and carrying another.

“Am I here to wipe his bottom?”

“It might be the opposite,” Anaori said. “I remember you.”

“I graduated five years ago, Master Anaori.” The Dragon gave a deep bow to Anaori.

“Give him a go.” Anaori took the extra vest and tossed it to the challenger.

A few cadets walked onto the field, and that number grew when they saw Pol would be fighting a Dragon.

Pol observed the challenger warm up. He wore gloves, which wasn’t the case for sparring in Anaori’s classes. Most of his flourishes were for show, but by now Pol could read many of his opponent’s strengths or weaknesses before the match started.

The Dragon wasn’t very supple, and an attack at the man’s left side might be a good approach, Pol thought.

Anaori stood between them. “Three touches. Pol hasn’t sparred with a Dragon before.”

“You’re a Dragon, Anaori.”

“Ex-Dragon, and I’ll never see forty again.”

Pol’s opponent shrugged. “Two touches.” He grinned. “That’s all there will be, boy.”

Pol felt like he had to respect the Dragon, so he let the taunt slide off.

“Touch blades!”

Pol extended out his old Shinkyan sword.

“Playing with an antique?” The Dragon touched blades and slid to his left, ready to strike with his right. Pol moved along with him, anticipating his every move.

“Aren’t you going to attack?” the Dragon said.

“Aren’t you going to keep your mouth shut?” Pol countered.

He saw his opponent’s leg muscles bunch and jumped back. His opponent met thin air. Pol sneaked in and tapped him on his forearm before he could move his sword back.

“That’s not fair,” the Dragon said.

“That’s a touch,” Anaori said. “He could have sliced your sword arm open if he chose.”

The Dragon stood upright and adjusted his clothes and his gloves. “Luck.”

Pol exercised his neck and did a few knee bends. “I’m ready.”

“At a touch,” Anaori said.

Pol attacked this time. He concentrated on the man’s left side, but his opponent found his sword hand with the flat of his blade. Not quite flat because blood began to seep out of a wound.

“I’ll get this bound,” Pol said.

“That wouldn’t happen in a real battle.”

Pol stood straight. “Fine. This won’t take long.”

Anaori cautioned Pol. “You can get this taken care of before the next round.”

Pol shook his head. He had been too sloppy, concentrating on the man’s weaknesses without observing his strengths. He wouldn’t let that happen on the last match.

The Dragon was faster than Anaori but lacked the footwork of the sword master. Pol glanced at his hand. Blood welled at the edges of the cut, but it wasn’t flowing out. He stood up straight before he settled into a different pose.

“Changing up. Good for a boy.”

Pol touched blades with the Dragon and then thrust his blade along the man’s sword far enough to slide the blunt top up and over on the man’s hand. It was a risky move, but it worked. The blow caused the Dragon to drop his sword.

“My hand!”

Pol echoed and held up his own. “My hand.” He walked closer to the Dragon. “I hope it doesn’t hurt,” he said.

The Dragon held it out for Anaori to examine. “It looks like a heavy blow,” Anaori paused before he continued, “to this Dragon’s pride. About all I can do is kiss it to make it better.”

Pol made sure he didn’t laugh.

The Dragon walked up to Pol as he wrapped his wound in a clean cloth. The sword master kept a box of the dressings. “I would have never thought.” The Dragon put out his hand. “Well fought. You made some good moves out there.”

Pol looked out at a group of over ten cadets watching them. “Now we go over the match in front of them. You don’t have to attend, but Anaori thought these matches would be good learning experiences for them.”

The Dragon snorted. “It’s a good learning experience for me. I’ll be interested to know what you say.”

Anaori and Pol had the students sit down and went over each match.

“Questions?”

The Dragon raised his hand. “Did you proceed with the third round with your hand bleeding to intimidate me?”

Pol was surprised by the question since the Dragon had taunted Pol. “Did I intimidate you?”

The man paused for a moment. “I think you did. I honestly thought you would wrap your hand. That would have given you a poorer grip.”

Pol turned to the students. “There is more to a duel than fast blades and flashy techniques,” Pol said. “There can also be a mental game. Those of you who were here from the beginning saw that play out. Be aware that in a real fight, the mental aspect diminishes with the stakes.”

“Have you ever been in a real fight?” a student asked.

Pol pressed his lips together. “I can’t recall, but I would bet on it.”

The students left. Pol looked at his cut again. “I’ll go to the healer’s. The blood stopped too quickly.”

“A healer, too?” the Dragon said as he walked out.

“Maybe,” Pol said, nodding.

~

A few weeks later, two Dragons showed up a little earlier than the last time. One of the men was the Dragon from before.

“A return match?” Anaori said.

“Not me. I brought another fighter. He’s no better than me, but I want to watch Pol fight without worrying about being injured.” He lifted up his hand to show a faint bruise where Pol had hit him with the top of his blade.

This Dragon wasn’t faster and had poorer technique, but the force of his slashes showed off impressive arm strength.

Pol didn’t worry about strength as much for a duel. His fighting memories told him that strength did have an effect in a real fight. A flash of memory told him that real fights were not as clean as a sparring match. Punches were thrown, and blades grabbed. Pol caught a glimmer that he had other talents at his disposal.

He shook his head as he tried to remember more, but nothing came.

The results were as Pol expected, but there were no injuries other than another Dragon’s pride.  Both Dragons seemed to be more interested in the discussion of the match after with the students. All of the third-years and a few seconds finally showed up to observe the match.

Pol learned more about how his sparring looked than what his opponent had done. He didn’t need to work on his speed, but his first Dragon opponent mentioned a few technical breakdowns.

“How do you feel?” Anaori said as they continued to clean up and put away the weapons for the day.

“I thought I wouldn’t like the commentary, but that’s the best part, isn’t it? I’m learning a lot about how others see me.”

“Can you improve?”

Pol nodded. “I never realized some aspects to my technique. Some are very good, but I do have rough edges.”

Anaori laughed. “I wish I had some of those rough edges, but I agree. We had gone about as far as we could with your training until I was able to step back with fresh eyes.  We can work on what I saw tomorrow.”

Pol dragged himself to the commissary. Tam joined him after a few minutes.

“I heard about the match today. You won with two touches, is that right?”

Pol smiled. “He wasn’t as good as the first Dragon. I don’t care about the wins, but I care about the feedback,” Pol said. “I want to get better.”

“Why?” Tam said. “Aren’t you good enough?”

Pol took a bite of meat and thought about Tam’s comment. “I can do better. That’s the thing. I think I was good, but somehow I had an unnatural advantage. I just get a whiff of that memory when I fight. I want to fight well without that.”

“You’ve changed since when we started,” Tam said.

“Hardly.”

“You were still finding yourself during that first year. You seem a lot more confident.”

“So are you,” Pol said. “All the cadets that have made it so far have improved.”

“Especially you.”

Pol let Tam have the last word. He had to get more studying in so he could take Demeron out for exercise in the morning.

~~~

Chapter Twenty

~

T he day dawned dark and wet. Pol wondered if he needed to exercise Demeron, but the day was steamy, not cold, so he thought Demeron might want to play in the mud.

He smiled as he walked out to the stable. He took Demeron out on the quick path to a large park not far from the Academy. As expected, the ground was soft, and Demeron pranced around and enjoyed the wet weather. He took his horse back in and dried him off, groomed him.

“What’s to become of us?” Pol said.

Demeron backed out of his stall and wrote the Eastrilian word ‘M-A-G-I-C’ in the dirt.

“Magic?” Pol said in Kirian to Demeron. He scuffed the word out.

Demeron nodded.

“Was I a magician?”

The horse nuzzled Pol. “Do they have magicians at Deftnis?”

He nodded again.

“You waited until I was strong enough to do something about it?”

Demeron whinnied.

“I’ll have to think about the word,” Pol said. He quickly finished and went to eat his breakfast. He had to hurry to make his Kirian history class. His instructor had been talking about the current social structure.

The lecture had turned to trade and the role of merchants in Kitanga. Pol looked over at Akil, who sat forward, intensely interested in the subject.

The instructor, one of those who didn’t like Pol, began to describe what trade items were traded with Shinkya.

“Do we make anything with magic?” Pol asked.

“Figurines. Magicians of a certain level use their magic to carve wood. I don’t suppose you’ve been to the palace?”

“I have,” Pol said. “Some of the carvings there seemed to shimmer. Is that magic?”

The instructor’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting. Most people don’t notice. Anyone can see how the wood grain matches the carving. A few can see the shimmer. Most magicians can’t. Why don’t you come with me to my office? I have a carving there. Let’s see if you can see something similar.”

Pol was surprised by the instructor’s offer, but he nodded and let the class continue.

“Did you learn anything?” Pol asked Akil.

“No. I think my job will not be as easy as I thought. There might not be as large a market for Zasosian goods.”

“There is always a market for something unique.  Remember the magic figurines?” Pol said.

Akil nodded his head, raising his eyebrows as he thought. “There is more magic in Zasos than in Kiria. Perhaps all of my training won’t be for naught.” He clapped Pol on his shoulder. “I needed an encouraging word just now.” He left Pol standing in the hallway waiting for the instructor.

“Ah, you stuck around.” The instructor looked disappointed. “Come this way.”

They threaded their way through the administration building. The instructor had little to say as Pol followed him.

His office was tiny but filled with books, portfolios, and papers. He shuffled through the stacks on a bookshelf and pulled out a figurine.

“This is a dog,” the man said.

Pol could see that. The carving was stylized with overlarge eyes. He could see the shimmer. The instructor gave the figurine to Pol.

“I can’t see a shimmer or anything other than the figurine. These are expensive in Kitanga and very expensive when exported to Shinkya.”

Pol looked closely and saw vestiges of the grain following the carving. “A magician makes this?”

“From a block of wood. He or she uses a pattern to visualize the shape and then uses magic to create this.”

“Can I see them make one?”

The instructor shrugged. “I suppose so. The magicians work from their homes, but there are a few distributors that handle sales in Kiria and Shinkya. I’ll give you the address of a shop in the Street of Spring.”

The man wrote out a number and handed it to Pol.

“Thank you. Do you have any idea why I see a shimmer, and you don’t?”

“None at all,” the instructor said.

Pol had an hour after his last morning class. He would go to the address and see what he could learn about magic.

The streets were still wet, but the sun was trying to peek out. The afternoon could very well be hot and muggy. Pol found the shop open. He walked inside.

“An Academy cadet,” the shopkeeper said.

Pol looked at the figurines on the shelves. He even saw carved flowers amidst the little animals. Most of them had that shimmer he could detect. “How much are these?”

“Two falcons each for most of them.”

Pol picked up a tan horse. It appealed to him for some reason. “This one?”

“It was made by my best magician. Three falcons due to the quality.”

“I can see a shimmer.”

“You can? That is surprising. Most people can’t. I’ve never heard of a Shinkyan seeing the shimmer. My magicians tell me that it is rare, but not unknown. Would you like to meet one of the artists? He is working in the back room.” The shopkeeper moved closer and spoke softly. “He has a problem at home.”

“I would.”

The shopkeeper put the horse in a little wooden box and then put the box in a cloth sack after Pol handed the coins to the man.

“Taumo, can you come out?”

A short little man walked into the shop from the back. He was middle-aged.

“You are a magician?”

The man shrugged. “I can make the figurines if that’s what you mean. It keeps me fed.”

“Can you look at me and tell if I’m a magician?” Pol said.

Taumo laughed. “I can tell if you have power.”  He reached up and put his hand on Pol’s head. “All I can see is that you once had power in you, but it doesn’t seem to flow.” He closed his eyes. “There is something in your head. It might be a ward applied by one of your Shinkyan Elders. We don’t do those horrid things in Kitanga.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Me?” The man shook his head. “No. It would take a better magician than me even to try.”

“Do you know of a magician powerful enough?”

“Not in Kiria. We don’t have the strong magic that Shinkya does. If we did, I’d be dead.”

Pol didn’t understand.

“I’ve got about as much power as any Kirian males, but competent Shinkyan male magicians don’t live long. I think it is different in the Empire, but we don’t care about them.”

“What about Zasos?”

“They have magicians, but Zasos is a wild place. Nomad tribes run around the plateau and kill each other.” The magician shivered.

Pol didn’t expect any further information and thanked the man. He stepped outside to see it raining again. Pol had to dodge raindrops all the way back to the Academy. He examined the shimmer on the tan horse and looked closely to see the grain. This was a better-made item since he couldn’t even see a grain.

The price cost him a few days of work, but he had spent none of his money and had just put the falcons into the same pouch that held his Shinkyan coins.

The rain still came down, so Anaori canceled sword practice. If it persisted tomorrow, they would have to use the Academy practice hall. Pol sought out Akil, who would have been out in the field.

He found the third year cadet studying in the commissary.

“Can I ask you a few questions?”

Akil rolled his eyes. “Anything to relieve the boredom. This is not applicable to my plans.” He lifted up a book on Kirian village law. “I will never be a Dragon, and I doubt you will either.”

“Why?”

“A Shinkyan slinking around in the villages? I don’t think anyone would put up with that. You’d be better off seeking a post beneath the escarpment.”

“Guarding against Zasosian invasion?”

Akil barked out a laugh. “I told you there is no chance of that. The Dragons would rather have someone like you patrolling than policing.”

Pol thought about it. “I guess I’ll find out.”

“You will.”

“Do you know any magicians in Zasos?” Pol said.

“Most of them are healers out with the clans.”

“Even the powerful ones?”

Akil shrugged. “What is power? With all the clashes, the clans need healing more than tricks.”

Pol worked his mouth. He didn’t want to confide in Akil, but he needed to know about the ward on his mind. That’s what the magician called it.

“I had a local magician test me for magic. I can’t do any, but he said I used to have power and there is a block on my mind.”

Akil laughed. “Did he ask you for money?”

Pol shook his head.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. The magician didn’t offer to remove it for a price? I would guess someone is trying to con you.”

“He said no one in Kiria is powerful enough.”

“There are a few very powerful magicians in Zasos. Healers sometimes get caught up in the conflicts, and there are those who would avoid them. There used to be a great magician, my father used to say. He disappeared from Axtopol and may be dead now, for all I know. It would be safer to look around Kiria.”

“But the talent is in Zasos,” Pol said.

“If you do end up in my country, seek out the Hawk clan. There are many tribes roaming around the plains, but my father lives in Axtopol. I told you that before.  Present this at the main door, and you may get the chance to meet him.”

Akil pulled out a square black metal tab about an inch wide and slid it across the table to Pol.

“I have a few of those, so don’t worry about it being my only one.”

Pol turned it over to see the silver outline of a bird of prey etched on the surface.

“The whole tab is silver, but painted black. The paint is removed to show the outline of the bird.”

“It’s pretty.”

“More valuable than any silver coin when used right. That should take you right to my father.”

“Thank you. If you need anything, I owe you. You can go back to being bored.”

Akil snorted out a chuckle and opened his book back up.

Pol sought out Demeron. “I found something out. I might have had magic. Did you know that?”

Demeron nodded.

“There is something on my mind holding back my power if that is to be believed, but certainly my memories. Did you know that?”

Demeron whinnied and nodded again.

“As soon as I graduate, we’ll be headed to Zasos where there might be powerful magicians. Where there are powerful magicians, I might get my memories back. Should that be my goal?”

Demeron nuzzled Pol. It appeared that Demeron knew the truth all along. “Did you wait until I could do something about it?”

Pol got another nod. He felt empowered for the first time since the shipwreck. He now had a plan, and by saving his money, he had the means to pursue it. He gave Demeron a quick grooming as a reward and returned to his room.

Zasos. He pulled out the Zasos language text and began to dig more deeply into the language. Akil always said he would help Pol learn more about the language.

Now that Pol had a goal in mind, he approached his studies even more intently. He would never be comfortable in Kitanga, remembering the King’s offhand remark about him being Shinkyan. He would seek to patrol the northern border with Zasos and then at the right time head up to the plateau. He would have to learn the maps as well as the language.

~~~

Chapter Twenty-One

~

Shira

~

S hira looked out at the rain making a mire of the garden behind the manor. It had been another year of vigilance. King Grostin had used an army of a thousand men to test the borders of South Salvan and had been pushed back each time. He reinforced his efforts into late fall.

Shira’s forces fought two more incursions, each one more violent. Her forces suffered fewer casualties than any other along the border, but still, each death hurt. She took a deep breath. Grostin had withdrawn so deep into North Salvan, that Shira and the other border commanders put up watchtowers, with birds, ready to alert the forces to another incursion.

The immediate threat of invasion had diminished, and the local forces continued to train once a month.

The Shinkyan forces began to build a Shinkyan-style village close to Little Tishiko. Elder Harona and the other Grand Masters helped with the building, binding the materials with their magic. Shira helped, and she learned to fuse timbers and realized that Pol used the same tweaking to secure the doors to his rooms.

Harona began to teach Shira advanced tweaking, including the restraining spell that the Fearless Grand Masters used on Ako in Tishiko. She could apply it by herself. As time went by, they practiced wards. Shira quickly became more proficient than the Elder. She had experienced the wards of The Shards on her trip through Volia, but now she could duplicate those. She experimented laying harmless wards around the manor.

~~~

Chapter Twenty-Two

~

Pol

~

A few Dragons showed up from time to time to spar with Pol. Some were nicer than others. Tenigi surprised him with a visit towards the end of the year.

“Ah, you expected another opponent, didn’t you?”

“It’s better to see you again,” Pol said.

“I won’t be coming around anymore. I’ve been asked to retire.”

“Retire? You’re not that old, are you?”

“There has been a shake-up in the Dragons. My friends in high places have gone to do other things, and it is time for me to, as well. I came with a few words of advice.”

Pol had grown to like Tenigi. Of all the Dragons, he had always been a friend and didn’t seem to worry about Pol’s Shinkyan appearance.

“I’ll miss you.”

Tenigi nodded. “I’ll be returning to the little town where I grew up, on the southern coast. So, this is goodbye. The new leaders do not like Shinkyans or Zasosians. It’s a good thing your friend Akil is graduating. Be wary at all times. If you thought there would be a place in the Dragons for you, forget it. There are caravans always traveling between Kitanga and Axtopol. You might find a place on one. It’s not much of a living, but it is better than tanning or any other village activity.”

“You’ve brightened my day,” Pol said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Tenigi put his hands up on Pol’s shoulders. “You’ve done well by yourself in this place. You’ll do well elsewhere. If you don’t like a situation, leave it. You’re too young to have to endure a bad situation.”

Pol wondered if his third year would develop into the bad situation that Tenigi might be alluding to. “I will do what’s right for me. I don’t regret anything I’ve done so far, even working with Bingi. I needed time to get my bearings after appearing in Soagi village with my memories gone.”

“I agree. I would like to keep in touch with you, but I doubt that will be possible, so this is goodbye.” He gave Pol a hug and left him standing on the practice field watching one of his few Kirian friends turn the corner and disappear from his life.

Anaori walked up to Pol after passing the departing Dragon. “Tenigi didn’t look very happy.”

“He is retiring from the Dragons. The new leadership seems to want a different kind of Dragon.”

Anaori nodded. “He’s right about that. I’m glad I did the same some years ago. Sane men run the Academy, but sometimes I worry if enough pressure is applied, that I’ll be out of a job someday. Luckily, I have enough money saved to live well out in the villages. Don’t worry about me if you discover I’m suddenly gone.”

~

Akil proclaimed Pol’s Zasosian accent authentic by the time he graduated from the Academy. He left for Zasos the next day.

Tam said his father wanted him to run a new family business and pulled him out at the same time, and that left Pol alone among the cadets. He hadn’t cultivated many friendships, although he knew all the new second and third-year cadets through his job, but being an instructor seemed to keep them all at arm’s length.

Pol hadn’t had a Dragon match for weeks, so he was surprised to see three Dragons show up in the late afternoon about two weeks into the year. They all wore leather breastplates. Probably made by Bingi and his partners. Anaori didn’t know any of the three.

“What about a match, three on one?” one of the Dragons said.

“No,” Anaori said. “Our students aren’t taught that.”

“What does that mean? Are you afraid, Shinkyan?”

Pol looked at the men. From their stances, they weren’t interested in a friendly contest.

“No,” Anaori said. “No sparring today.”

One of the Dragons pulled his weapon. “Who said anything about sparring?”

The three men advanced on Pol, who had no weapon. He raised his hands. “I don’t have a sword.”

Two of them grabbed Anaori. One of them put a sword to Anaori’s throat. “Grab one for you and one for him. We are going to have some fun.”

“Are you really Dragons?” Pol asked.

“We just came down from the north where we have to put up with foreigners like you. We don’t like foreigners, do we?” He turned his head towards the two holding Anaori. They nodded in agreement.

Pol grabbed his old Shinkyan sword and the one Anaori usually used. On a whim, he grabbed two long knives. Pol and Anoari had just started training using a two-weapon approach.

“Let him go. I’m armed, now.” Pol said. He put down Anaori’s weapons down and moved away from them.

Anaori was tossed down to the ground. He put a hand to his neck, and it came away with some blood. “You’ll be tossed out of the Dragons for this,”

“Not likely. The big boss said he might give us a bonus for cutting up the Shinkyan a bit,” one of the men said. “We need a little work, anyway.”

Anaori called to one of the boys. “Get the healers, someone is going to get hurt,” he said as he picked up the swords. “No quarter,” he said quietly to Pol. “These men mean us harm.”

Pol shook his head. “They mean me harm. You should get some Dragons to help us.”

Anaori shook his head. “They will kill you if I leave.”

The men looked angry enough to confirm Anaori’s words. The Dragons advanced on the pair of them. Pol moved three or four paces from Anaori and tossed the instructor’s weapons on the ground.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. Anger would not help him today.  The leader and one of the other men advanced on Pol. They spread out to either side, but Pol moved back to keep them both in sight. He lunged to the right at the leader who jumped away and double lunged at the other, who wasn’t nearly as fast. He would be better off taking out the slower Dragon first.

Pol didn’t remember having killed before, but his hands and body knew he had. He held his long knife out towards the leader as he kept thrusting at the other Dragon. The man’s slow footwork gave Pol an opening to thrust his Shinkyan sword in the man’s leg. He pulled it out and heard the Shinkyan sword do more damage as he removed it.

He turned to the other Dragon. “You don’t have to fight any further. I’m not a novice, even though I’m young.”

Anaori was fighting the other Dragon to a draw, but he wouldn’t have the endurance of the younger man. Pol had to disable the leader quickly if he were to save the sword master.

“Lucky Ducky,” the leader said as he ran towards Pol with his sword raised. Pol instinctively blocked the vicious slash and slipped the long knife into the leaders boiled leather chest piece. Pol had expected the leather to turn the blade and give his opponent a push backward, but the leather crumbled and the thrust went through.

The leader fell to the ground, clutching his stomach.

He quickly turned to Anaori’s opponent, who saw the other two men on the ground and dropped his sword.

The two Academy healers ran from the building and attended to the fallen men. The breastplates were removed. As the men were seen to, Pol examined the boiled leather chest pieces. The leather was brittle. He took his old Shinkyan sword and poked its sharpened tip through the breastplate.

Anaori walked up to him. “Not very effective.”

“Not well-made,” Pol said. “They boiled it too long. The breastplate came from the tannery where I worked.” Pol cast it aside.

Anaori and Pol surveyed the damage. The healers told Pol that both of the Dragons would survive.

Six Dragons walked up to Pol. “These three wanted to fight Pol,” Anaori said.

Pol had fought at least four of them on other occasions.

“Did they have a death wish?” said the Dragon who Pol first fought months and months ago.

“They didn’t like Shinkyans,” Anaori said.

“That isn’t a crime,” one of the Dragons said, eyeing Pol’s bloody sword. “We will take them to our infirmary when the healers are done.”

The healers sent four boys for stretchers, and soon the field was clear except for a few patches of the Dragons’ blood.

“Pol fought like he had been to war,” one of the cadets told Anaori.

“Past reflexes, I suppose,” Pol said. “Our knife practice paid off.”

“It helped me, too, when I began to tire,” Anaori said. “My opponent was the best of the three. The leader was the angriest.”

“I didn’t have the time to evaluate your opponent. I took care of the slowest man first. I didn’t intend the knife to penetrate the leather. The plan was to scare him.”

“The Dragons didn’t get the best of us, though, did they?”

Pol shook his head. “No. I need something to drink.”

“Put the blades away and come with me.”

Anaori took Pol to his rooms at the Academy.

“I didn’t need an office, but I did need a place to live. My wife died in childbirth, and I never wanted to remarry, so the Academy has been my bride for way too long,” Anaori said.  He pulled a bottle of wine from a basket underneath his bed and popped open the cork with his teeth. After guzzling a drink, he handed the bottle to Pol.

“You probably need to relax as much as I do.”

Pol checked himself and agreed. He still had too much energy about him. He didn’t normally drink, but he took as long a pull as the sword master.

“You’re hurt,” Anaori said pointing to his arm.

“What?” Pol lifted up his arm and saw a patch of blood on his body. “When did that happen?”

Anaori shook his head. “Get to the healers before that festers. Take another swig.”

After another pull, Pol handed the bottle back to Anaori. “I have a use for that. Get going.”

Pol walked over to the administration building and found one of the healers on duty. He lifted up his arm.

“Is that your blood?”

“I suppose so,” Pol said.

The healer had him take his shirt off and treated the wound.

“That’s not deep. You don’t feel as much underneath there, but if it gets infected, it will cry out for attention like any other wound. What happened to the man with the stomach wound? I thought he’d be dead, but his wound wasn’t much deeper than yours. You have plenty of scars,” the healer said. “You have fought before.”

Pol nodded. “I guess so. I don’t remember.  I didn’t expect the knife to penetrate his breastplate,” Pol said. “If it were a real fight, he wouldn’t have lasted.”

“I’ll agree with you on that. He said you tried to kill him. That is evidence that you didn’t.”

Pol shrugged. “I didn’t want the fight, but the men forced us into it. They held a knife to Anaori’s throat.”

The healer shook her head. “I can’t believe that. I thought Dragons were better than that.”

“They said they came from the North.” Pol wouldn’t mention the change in leadership. He didn’t want to be accused of disparagement.

“Border patrollers. That explains it. The Dragons send their rejects up there. Rumor is they steal more than they protect.”

“If all of them are like those three, I can see that,” Pol said.  He didn’t mention his real thought that the border patrollers were probably expendable if anything went wrong.

The healer finished wrapping a bandage around Pol’s torso. “There.”

“Thank you,” Pol said.

He returned to his cubicle. It looked like a tour with the northern Dragons wouldn’t work out. The men hated foreigners. Pol thought it would be just the opposite, but he was wrong. He would have to reconsider his goal.

~

Pol exercised Demeron and ate a hearty breakfast. He returned to his cubicle to get his books but was stopped by a squad of Dragons.

“Come with us,” their leader said.

Pol didn’t have an opportunity to notify any of his classmates before he left.  They marched him across the ground to a large building and escorted him inside.

He stood in front of a set of doors until Wigaori, the headmaster came out.

“They are waiting for you.”

Something dreadful had happened from the look on his face. The headmaster followed Pol.

“Sit, cadet,” a stern-faced man in a fancier Dragon uniform said.

Pol sat.

“Do you have anything to say?”

Pol looked around the room. The only sympathetic face he saw was Wigaori’s.

“About what?” He wouldn’t let this man intimidate him.

“Your assault on three Dragons.”

“I didn’t assault them, with all due respect.” Pol didn’t know what respect that man was due, but he’d let his interrogator decide that for himself.

“Two men down. The third said you nearly ran him through as well.”

“Have you talked to Anaori?” Pol said.

“The ex-sword-master?”

Pol took a deep breath. They had already fired Anaori. This wasn’t a fair hearing. These men would not listen. Pol could see it in every face.

“He doesn’t deserve to be let go. The three Dragons came into the practice field spoiling for a fight. They—”

“We aren’t interested in a false tale. You are no longer a cadet. Take your possessions and leave the Academy before noon. This is the Dragon’s Academy, and we will not tolerate anyone spoiling our reputation.”

Pol was about to issue a retort, but he kept his mouth shut. Words would have no affect on minds hardened to the truth.

He rose and left. Wigaori caught up to him.

“Anaori, too? He didn’t draw blood.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? I work for the Dragons. There are strict isolationists in the Dragons, and in the last year they have solidified their hold on the organization. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. A Shinkyan training Kirian cadets is an affront to them.”

“The fight was ordered by the head of the Dragons?”

The headmaster nodded. “Get your possessions and grab your horse before they impound it. Don’t wear your academy vests, but the rest of the uniform is common enough to wear outside the Academy. Here is your final pay.” The headmaster handed Pol a heavy purse. He put his hand over Pol’s. Don’t count it, just go. Anaori has already been taken care of.”

Pol hurried to his cubicle and stuffed his possessions in the same leather bags he had made at Bingi’s tannery. He distributed his money into the different bags. Pol discovered that the headmaster had given him four months wages. Pol couldn’t go back and thank him. He had to hurry and grab Demeron. He sat on his bed and felt a lump.

Underneath the mattress was the Shinkyan blade. Perhaps that was a parting gift from Anaori. The thought depressed Pol. Anaori had been as much of a friend as anyone else in the Academy.

Pol had his long knife and the knife he won so long ago at the village contest. He hid the sword in the largest bag and exited the building, heading towards the stables.

As he crossed the Dragon practice field, Demeron galloped to his side. The horse was breathing heavily, and someone had done a poor job saddling him. Pol threw his possessions on the horse as men entered the field running towards them. Pol could figure out that some idiot Dragon had tried to take Demeron. There would be no sneaking out.

He jumped up on his horse. “How did you know where I was?”

Demeron whinnied and took off through the gate.

Pol directed Demeron out of the city to the south and threaded his way through the back alleys of Kitanga. He had always excelled in political and geography classes on the layout of the city once he had learned Kirian, so Pol took a less savory route and exited the capital to the northwest. They fled through the wooded countryside. Demeron ran with incredible speed.

After splashing through a stream that ran across the road, Demeron took a side trail. He took Pol to a little clearing and halted. Pol took his bags off the horse and used an Academy vest to wipe the foam from Demeron’s body. They both drank deeply from the clear water and rested.

Pol opened his eyes after a quick nap. The sun hadn’t moved much, so he redistributed his possessions, while Demeron continued to find fodder. Soon the road intersected with one heading north.

If Pol hurried, he could buy supplies in villages along the way to the plateau. His next goal was to reach Axtopol, capital of Zasos.

~~~

Chapter Twenty-Three

~

A week out of Kitanga, Pol entered a town with a large lot on the north side. Wagons, horses, men, and dust filled the space. He passed a sign advertising for caravan guards. Pol could certainly do that.

He wheeled around and found a supply store that sold lightweight hooded cloaks. Pol didn’t think openly wearing his Shinkyan features would be productive, so he bought one and put it on. He strapped his sword to his waist and inserted his long knife in the belt, ready to play the role of a caravan guard.

Pol, with his hood up, entered the caravan yard. He headed towards a tent that had ‘Caravan Master’ written on it in Kirian script. After tying up Demeron, he stood up straight and walked inside.

“I saw the sign wanting guards for the caravan.”

A burly middle-aged Kirian looked Pol over. “Can you use those weapons?”

Pol nodded. “I am proficient. I used to spar with Dragons and generally came out on top.”

The man snorted. “If bandits attacked the caravan, they wouldn’t be sparring.”

“I know,” Pol said. “I’ll demonstrate if you have any guards available for a match.”

“Show me your weapon.”

Pol pulled out his Shinkyan sword. After two years of use on the practice field, the shiny metal had taken on a worn sheen. It only made the sword more intimidating.

“Never seen one of those before.”

“It’s an old Shinkyan pattern,” Pol said.

“Are you Shinkyan? You don’t speak with one of their barbaric accents.”

Pol didn’t want to lie to the man, so he told his side of the story. “I was just kicked out of the Academy in Kitanga, if you must know. The new Dragon leadership doesn’t like Shinkyans, but I was the assistant sword master.”

“Is Anaori still there?”

The caravan’s mention of his friend surprised Pol, but he just shook his head. “He was let go the day I was.”

“You didn’t make trouble?”

Pol worked his mouth for a bit. “To some eyes I did. Three Dragon patrollers came onto the Academy practice field wanting to fight me.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “You’re still alive?”

“And so are they,” Pol said. “One will be uncomfortable walking for awhile, and another won’t be comfortable bending over for awhile.”

“And you?”

“A scratch on my side.”

The man looked at his hands for a bit. “I can hire you all the way to Axtopol, but if the Dragons are after you, I don’t suggest you return with me. I hope you aren’t interested in returning to Kiria, are you?”

Pol shook his head.

“Anaori and I were in the Dragons together. Neither of us graduated from the Academy, but we made a short career of it.” He paused for a bit. “Call yourself Paori while you’re with us. I’ll cover for you if needed since we don’t move too fast. Pay is a silver a week.”

“I don’t know if that is good or not, but if that includes a bedroll, a tent, and food along the way, I’ll take it.”

The caravan master wrote out a note identifying ‘Paori’ as a guard on the caravan earning one silver a week.  He wrote out another to the chief guard. “You can get bedding and basic supplies with this. I suggest you buy some of the other items that he offers. I presume you aren’t destitute?”

Pol shook his head. “I have enough.”

“Good. Make sure you wear that hood up as much as you can.  We leave in three days. I’ve got to vacate this yard by then to make room for the next caravan coming in.”

Pol left the yard and bought food and some water skins at a general store.

“You heading out with the caravan?” the shopkeeper said.

“Just got hired on as a guard.”

“They won’t tell you, but the last few caravans have been attacked at the escarpment. That’s why they need more guards. Do you know how to fight?”

Pol nodded. “I am good enough.”

“At least now you’ve been warned, even if they don’t.”

“Have you got a map of Zasos? I might need one if I get separated from the caravan,” Pol said, thinking ahead to be prepared for whatever might happen. “I’d like to double my food order and throw in a roll of bandage cloth, needles, and thread.”

“I didn’t say you’d be driven off,” the shopkeeper said.

“I just want to be prepared.”

“Need a book on Zasos words?”

Pol shook his head. “I already know the language.”

“I’d call that more than prepared.”

~

The chief guard rubbed his hands when Pol introduced himself. He thought that wasn’t a good sign.

“Need any weapons?”

“I don’t know much about bows and arrows,” Pol said. He didn’t know if he did or not, but he had to buy something from the man.

“Short bow, long bow or crossbow?”

“How much for each?”

Pol choked at the prices. He chose the short bow, only because it was the cheapest.

“Arrows?”

“The caravan covers the cost of those, but if you need something to carry them in, you’ll have to buy a quiver.”

Pol could make a quiver. He paid for the bow and three strings and carried a chit for his bedding. Now he had to go to another supplier who would want to sell him overpriced, poor quality accessory bedding. He guessed caravans were for merchants, and everyone was out to get the best deal.

He returned to the shopkeeper.

“Don’t like their prices?”

I had to buy something from my boss.” Pol shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have any arrow quivers?”

“Not in stock, and I won’t be getting any in until after you are gone. I can sell you some tanned leather if you’re up to making your own.”

Pol did some thinking and ended up buying a new bedroll, a large hide, and thick thread with needles. He also bought ten strings in a waxed paper envelope. He retrieved a little memory that told him that wet strings were useless. The shopkeeper’s prices were a third of what he would have had to pay.

With two days to do nothing, Pol spent a morning figuring out how best to make the quivers. It took him that afternoon and the next morning to finish those. He grabbed twice as many arrows as he needed. Pol made sure to inspect the bow and all the arrows. At least a third of the arrows were defective. He would have to take time practicing on the road. He finished the day memorizing the map to Axtopol and another of all Zasos. Empty land filled most of the map. The nomads didn’t build any cities or even roads, for that matter.

That night he met the rest of the guards. Most were older, grizzled, but seemed to accept him well enough. Perhaps they all were misfits like him. One of them was a little older than he was.

“Why are you here?” the young guard asked Pol.

“I’m going one way to Axtopol. Decided I’d rather travel with some protection and get paid rather than pay for my trip,”

“You’ve picked the right caravan. Nothing to worry about.”

Pol narrowed his eyes at the comment. “If there’s nothing to worry about, then why hire guards?”

“It makes the merchants happy,” the young man said. “Don’t worry. Did your daddy buy you a guard spot? Mine did.”

Pol looked at the guard’s clothes. If his father paid the caravan master to get hired, he must not have spent anything on apparel.

“Where did you get such a big horse? I’ve never seen one so large. He’s a bit scarred up though.”

“Demeron? I don’t know where the scars came from, but we’ve been together for some time.”

The guard looked at Pol and grinned. He turned and began a conversation with another guard. Something didn’t fit with him. Pol got up and walked over to the caravan master, sitting by himself at his fire.

“The young guard,” Pol said. “Did his father pay his way?”

“Nope. The chief guard knows his brother. He vouched for him, why?”

Pol cocked his head in thought. “He said his father paid you to hire him. No, he said his father bought him a guard spot.”

“Are you going to be a tattle-tale all the way to Axtopol?”

Pol shook his head. “No, sir. I just don’t like someone telling me there is nothing to worry about. I haven’t had much experience, but I get the impression that people who say such a thing mean that the opposite might happen.”

The caravan master looked over at the guard fire. “Maybe you should be a tattle-tale, but only to me. Don’t share any misgivings with the chief guard. Understand?”

“Totally and completely,” Pol said. “What time do the guards have to get up tomorrow?”

“You should get rousted out, but we leave an hour after dawn. All the merchants have arrived and have been told to be ready at dawn.”

Pol nodded and walked back to the guards’ fire.

“What did you talk to the master about?” the young guard said.

“I didn’t want to oversleep on my first day of work. We leave an hour after dawn, but I’ll be up before that.”

“I won’t.  There’s some drinking to be done. The master doesn’t allow any alcohol on the road.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I think it’s time for me to turn in.”

Pol found a spot away from all the noise and brought Demeron. He pounded a stake into the ground and loosely wound Demeron’s reins.

“We should get up just as dawn lightens the skies. If you’re awake then, nudge me,” Pol said.

~

Pol woke up in the night. He looked up at Demeron peering over him.

“Did we get some visitors?”

Demeron nodded.

“Did you scare them away?”

The horse nodded again.

Pol rose and scratched Demeron’s jaw. “You are my best and most loyal friend,” Pol said. Demeron was his only friend this far north. He relieved himself and returned to sleep.

His eyes opened. It looked dark, but he could see a rim of pale blue rising from the eastern horizon.  Demeron didn’t move when Pol sat up. He would let his horse sleep until he had everything ready to load. As he worked, the caravan began to stir. He was the first guard up.

Demeron finally stood up and shook the sleep off, waving his mane. He nuzzled Pol and pushed him towards the caravan meal line just forming. Pol grabbed a cup, plate, and spoon and stood in line.

He ate by himself and rinsed out his kit before returning to Demeron. The first of the guards had just gotten in line when he mounted and began to circle the caravan memorizing faces and voices that he would have to protect.

The chief guard rode up to him. “Measuring up the cattle we’ll be herding?” the man said.

Pol didn’t think the remark was particularly funny, but he smiled. “Something like that. What do you want me to do?”

“I think we’ll put you in the back to start. Just make sure no one drops behind.  The merchants have been told the master won’t like it if he has to wait to make camp for the dawdlers.  There is truth to his words, but there’s always a wagon or two that breaks a wheel or has a sick horse.”

“Perils of the trail?” Pol said.

The chief nodded. “You don’t wait very long before you head back to your post at the end of the caravan.”

Pol gave the chief an Academy salute. He continued to observe the instructions that the caravan master gave the merchants. It was easy to see the difference between the experienced drivers and the beginners. Pol began to get a feel for the entire process since it would be repeated day after day for the expected four weeks travel from their starting place to Axtopol.

He rode next to an experienced driver. “What’s it like going up the escarpment?”

“Is this your first trip?”

Pol nodded.

“Generally takes two days to get up. Something always goes wrong. There is a wide flat part on the road about halfway up where we spend the night. The master always sends a guard to the top to make sure there’s not a caravan coming down. It’s happened a couple of times to me.  It slows our arrival for three or four days.”

“Have you ever been attacked?”

The driver nodded. “The chances are about two out of five that you’ll be using that sword for more than decoration.  It's typically just a few bandits midway up where they will grab a few horses or goods out of an unattended wagon and run off.”

“Do they ever get caught?”

The driver shook his head. “If it’s dark, it’s too dangerous.”

“Do they run back up the plateau to join their clans?” Pol asked.

“Clans? Not at all. All the thieves I’ve seen have been Kirians. The Zasosians don’t bother us unless we try to forge ahead through a clan fight.”

That wasn’t what he learned at the Academy. His instructors always blamed the Zasosians for problems traveling up the escarpment. Akil had never corrected them, but Pol wondered if he didn’t object for political reasons. The merchant’s driver didn’t have any reason to lie. He never believed the other young guard and had a reason to doubt the Academy instructor after his experience with Kirian attitudes towards foreigners.

The caravan finally got started. There were three wagons owned by the caravan master, who ended up operating his own import/export business. The caravan consisted of nine wagons and two carriages. One carriage carried Zasosians and the other Kirians. Pol asked the caravan master about it, and he shrugged and said the practice existed before he started moving merchandise.

No wagons lagged behind on the first day, but Pol found out why the chief guard put him at the back. He wrapped some bandage cloths around his face to keep from breathing in all the dust. His light coat kept the rest of his clothing from exposure to the road grime.

When they stopped, the sun hadn’t quite set. The stopping place looked like it had been used lots of times before. That was convenient for the caravan, but from a security standpoint, Pol learned that predictability put the caravan at a disadvantage.

He strolled over to the tents grouped around the carriage that carried the Zasosians.

“Good evening,” Pol said in their language.

“You speak our tongue.”

“I do. I learned it at a school in Kitanga. I learned pronunciation from a native Zasosian.”

“A Zasosian in Kitanga? Even I haven’t chanced to travel there. May I ask you his name?”

“Akil,” Pol said.

“Akil D’Boria?”

Pol nodded.

The man laughed. “Akil is a naive lad. He thought he could make exquisite connections at the Dragon Academy. Was he disappointed! I’ve been trading with the Kirians for years, and they are too wrapped up in themselves to be good partners.”

“He tried to trade?”

The Zasosian laughed. “We all know the story. He returned hoping his father would fund a trading expedition all the way to Kitanga, but they laughed him out of the house.”

“So his naiveté was trusting his father?”

The man pressed his lips together and nodded. “That might be a better way of putting it. Akil is lower down the pecking order. If he hadn’t made such a fuss with his father about bribing his way into the Academy, none of us would know his story.”

“Is he still in Axtopol?”

“I don’t think so,” another Zasosian said. “I believe his father put him in charge of one of the Hawk tribes.”

“Are you clan lords?” Pol asked.

“Hardly lords, but if you live in Axtopol, you get to know the workings of your opponents. There is money to be made knowing what is going on in the city and the plains. You do know how to speak our language well. Come join us for dinner tomorrow night, and we will introduce you to Zasosian cuisine.”

“I’ll do that,” Pol said. He left them, struck by their friendliness. Akil had never seemed friendly, but then Pol probably didn’t either.

~~~

Chapter Twenty-Four

~

T he next day was uneventful. A wagon broke a wheel, and Pol helped them fix it temporarily, so the merchant’s drivers got back on the road quickly. They would stay outside a large village that night where the wheel could be replaced.

He took Demeron into the village for a bucket of grain. Pol bought some more to treat him later on the road.

Pol wandered over to the Zasosians and received another warm welcome. The food was either spicy or bland. They prepared a lot of dishes, and everyone took small portions of whatever they wanted.

“This isn’t our usual travel fare, but the village store stocks food for us. Zasosian merchants keep him stocked up. We pay an exorbitant amount, but it is worth it,” one of the men said. The others muttered their agreement. No one talked very much when they ate.

“What tribe are you all from?”

The man smiled, but he wasn’t amused. “We do not mention our time in the tribes. Many of us grow up on the plains and return to live in Axtopol. We are clan members. No one here is a Hawk, like your friend Akil. Four of us are Bats, and two are from the Panthers. I’m a Panther.”

Pol got it. “So you have a split society? I thought people could move from the plains to the city and back. I was told you are all nomads.”

“You are partially right. People do move from the plains to the city, but it is rare for someone to move back.”

“So Akil was punished when he went out to the tribes.”

The man nodded. “It is a harsh assignment when your father is a clan lord.”

After Pol ate his fill, he checked on Demeron and thought more about Zasosian society. Something was missing. His understanding was incomplete, and he didn’t want to put too much pressure on his relationship with the Zasosians. He still needed more information to survive in Zasos long enough to find a magician who could unblock his mind, if such a person existed. He might chance asking them another evening. If nothing else, he looked forward to practicing his Zasosian.

Another week, and the escarpment made its appearance to the north as a blue line all along the horizon. The cliffs ran in both directions for hundreds of miles. They were tallest facing Kiria, nearly two thousand feet, and the plateau tilted downward as the plains extended north towards the ocean Eastril shared with Daera. The northern edge of the escarpment was only a few hundred feet tall as it touched the sea, but it supposedly made up hundreds of miles of coastline.

The Zasosians lent Pol a few books along the way that he was able to read as they plugged along. There were no incidents of bandits and no more broken wheels.

The caravan master called for Pol. “I want you to head to the top and stop any caravans from coming down. Riders are fine since there are enough places where they can pass the wagons.”

Pol nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want me around to protect the caravan? I am proficient with my weapons.” He didn’t mention the bow and arrow. He thought he’d have time to practice along the way, but that never happened with him eating dust all day since his assignment at the back of the caravan never changed.

The caravan master rubbed his chin. “I can see your point. The chief guard was adamant about sending you.”

Pol thought a moment. “Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious?”

“Look, you are a rookie guard. I understand your sincerity, but I make the decisions here.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t. I’m just asking you to reconsider.”

“No. Tomorrow we’ll reach the point where you need to get ahead of us. I still need you to reach the top and stop anyone else from coming down. There are Zasosian guards at the top, and you need to give them my authorization to enter their country.”

Pol didn’t have anything further to say. He had done what he could.

~

Just before the caravan started, Pol returned the Zasosian books and wished the people in the carriage an easy trip up to their country. The caravan master met him at the front where Pol took the leather portfolio containing the Zasosian permission document. The younger guard who he didn’t like laughed at him as he rode past on his way towards the escarpment.

He had to admit that it was a responsibility for a new guard to head up the trail. The land surrounding the escarpment rose a bit, and then the escarpment loomed over him. He could see the road twisting back and forth up the face of the cliff. He guessed thousands of years had worn down the vertical sides of the plateau to provide enough slope to carve out the switchbacks.

“Let’s get up quickly,” Pol said to Demeron.

The caravan master said he could make it up the escarpment in a little more than half a day. The wagons would take four times that since they moved slowly and had to rest the horses more often.

Pol patted Demeron on the back as they began their ascent. “You move as fast as you want and stop when you want,” Pol said. “I have no idea how taxing the run is going to be for you.”

Demeron nodded his head and whinnied. He rose up on his forelegs and took off up the road. It quickly narrowed to two wagon widths, and Pol could see how caravans could not pass each other.

As they moved, Demeron’s pace increased. Pol didn’t understand how his horse could move so fast, but they had nearly made it to the midway point when Demeron came to a stop at a stream that trickled down the escarpment in a series of small waterfalls.

Pol filled his water skins and let Demeron drink from the falling water. Pol took the opportunity to eat his midday meal a little early and gave Demeron a few handfuls of grain. His horse nudged him for more, and Pol gladly obliged.

Demeron nudged Pol after a few minutes. The horse wrote something in the dirt. It was a long line with a short one intersecting it towards one side.

“A sword?”

Demeron nodded.

“You think there are armed men ahead?”

Demeron wrote ‘10’ in the dirt.  That could mean bandits ahead. Pol believed Demeron more than he did the young guard who claimed the trip would be safe. He suspected the chief guard might be in on an ambush, as well. Another ten men added to the remaining guards would allow them to easily take over the caravan.

Pol couldn’t let that happen. He loosened his sword and looked wistfully at the bow and arrow. It would have come in handy to take down a few of the bandits. As it was, he would have to fight his way through the bandits to make it to the top.

Demeron walked slowly up the incline. Pol could hear voices above him, the shouting of boisterous, confident men about to make a lot of money. Demeron nodded to Pol and stopped. He shook his back.

“You want me to get off?”

Demeron nodded his head.

“We fight together?”

That got another nod from the horse.

Pol patted Demeron on his flank and led the horse up to the curve of the switchback.

“We’ve got another hour until the lead guard is expected,” Pol heard up the road. These men brimmed with confidence enough to talk so loudly. “We’ll take care of him quickly. He can’t be more than twenty years old.”

Twenty, Pol thought. He guessed that was about his age now. Pol didn’t think he was over twenty. He knew he could handle a sword better than any of them, but he didn’t think he could take on ten and survive.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down. They were going to kill him anyway, so any he could take with him would be fewer bandits to fight the drivers and the renegade guards.

“I’ll go first, so I can get closer to them,” Pol said. He hunched down and took the inside of the curve of the switchback to keep him as protected as possible. When he reached the stopping area, he paused. The stopping point was the width of three wagons long-ways and a hundred paces long. Luckily, the bandits camped close to his side. He was about to get closer when Demeron rushed past him.

He stood as his horse ran at the first bandit. The man raised his sword, but a gust of wind came out of nowhere and blew him off the road. Pol hurried to help Demeron, but he stood as half of the bandit’s horses began to fight their riders. None of the bandits were able to form a mounted attack. Demeron kept moving towards the group of bandits. It seemed like he controlled the wind as they were tossed back and forth.

Pol hurried and began to fend off the feeble attacks of the bandits who his horse blew aside. The wind didn’t blow as forcefully at the same time that Demeron began rearing and attacking the men with his hooves. Pol continued to dispatch the bandits. The horses began to fight one another and Pol had to get out of the way as the bandits began to get caught up in the hooves and heavy equine bodies.

Three of the bandits escaped the maelstrom and advanced on Pol. The training Pol had undergone for the past years at the Academy took over. His attacks pushed the men closer towards the horses. Demeron stood behind the men, watching Pol push them towards him.

The remaining horses milled around. It looked like Pol’s unexpected allies survived. Pol realized this before the first of the bandits attacked him.  He ran at Pol with his sword raised. Pol easily raised his sword to ward off the blow and used the same move that had stabbed the Dragon at the Academy. The man rolled away with a much deeper cut.

Two of them advanced on Pol, but Demeron quietly advanced on one of the men and grabbed hold of his collar with his teeth, and then dragged him to the edge of the cliff and let him down before nudging him over the edge.

Pol’s last opponent was wild-eyed. He kept changing sword hands and looking nervously towards Demeron.

“Do you want to live?” Pol said. “Drop your blade.”

The man looked at the blood dripping from Pol’s long knife and let his sword clatter to the ground.

Pol shuffled to the man’s weapons and kicked them out of reach.

“Sit.”

The man sat.

“Are you the leader?”

“No, I am not.”

A leader would never show so much fear, Pol thought. “What were your plans, to waylay the caravan that is coming up the escarpment?”

“That’s obvious enough,” the man said.

“Is the chief guard in on it?”

The man’s eyes shifted to Demeron and Pol, and then he looked away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you talking,” Pol said. “You know how old I appear to be. You were going to kill me, right?”

The man nodded.

“Should I kill you instead?” Pol asked.

“No. I’ll tell you. The chief guard is in on it. The leader’s son is a guard on the caravan. There’re two more who will fight with us.”

“Fourteen could do the trick. Do you think the four of them will?”

The bandit shook his head.

“Get some rope. I’m going to tie you up, and if you make a wrong move, Demeron here will let you join your comrades,” Pol said.

Minutes later, the bandit was bound tight.  That gave Pol a chance to line up the bodies on the road. There were six. That meant three of the bandits were blown over the edge. Pol looked over and saw two bodies on the road below. He wondered if the other had survived the fall.

He lined up the bodies. Two of the horses were dead, and two more seemed to be guarded by six others. He didn’t know how that could have happened. He looked up at Demeron.

“Can you speak to horses?”

Demeron nodded.

“Did you talk them into helping you?”

That got another nod.

Pol rose and hugged Demeron’s neck. “Great job.”

Demeron reared up and neighed. Pol thought it looked like some kind of a victory move.

Pol couldn’t move the dead horses. He rewarded each of the six allies with the rest of his grain.

Demeron neighed.

Pol pulled out his sword just in time to deflect an attack from the last of the bandits. This man was older, thicker, and showed some talent with his blade.

“Are you the leader?”

“Not anymore thanks to you and that devil horse.”

They fought for less than half a minute and disengaged. The man’s experience matched Pol’s technique.

“Give up, and I’ll tie you up, leaving you for the caravan. That should be a good lesson for your son.”

The leader glared at the bound robber, and that gave Pol the opportunity to close with the man, putting him at a disadvantage. He used his knife again and swiped his blade underneath the man’s right armpit. The leader dropped his sword while Pol moved in.

“Kill me,” the leader said.

Pol shook his head. “That isn’t going to happen.”

The leader looked at Demeron and Pol before he sprinted for the edge and dove off the cliff. Pol watched his body bounce on the rocks to join his fellow bandits on the road far below.

“He didn’t need to do that,” Pol said to himself.

“You don’t know him like I do,” the robber said. “That man had more pride than the rest of us put together. He probably couldn’t handle his son seeing him bound up like this.” The man’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “I’m fine with it though. I didn’t kill no one in the caravan, nor did I steal anything.”

“This time,” Pol said.

The man shrugged his shoulders. His eyes suddenly closed and he slumped over. Pol ran over to him, but the man seemed to be sleeping.

“Did you do that?”

Demeron raised his chin and shook his mane. That was definitely a yes, but somehow Pol felt it was more. Demeron might have been proud of what he just did.

It was time to check the horses for injury.  Pol could only do so much, but he did find some gashes in the horses’ legs, which he washed with water and applied some healing salve. He didn’t know if it would work on horses, but using the salve wouldn’t hurt. He bound their wounds.

“Could you ask them if they want to come with us or wait for the caravan?”

Demeron nodded. Not much later a string of eight horses followed Pol and Demeron up the trail. It was close to dusk when Pol made it all the way to the top. Two guards in uniforms that looked loose and comfortable clambered out of a guard shack when they noticed Pol standing at Demeron’s side.

“A caravan is waiting to come up from the bottom,” Pol said.

“We know,” one of the guards said. Pol made out the Kirian features in the twilight. He pulled out his sword, but both guards flew into the guard shack and lost consciousness.

Pol sheathed his sword. “You again?”

Demeron nodded.

“I wish you’d teach me.”

Demeron shook his head and poked Pol in the chest. “Is it something I already know?”

The horse nodded.

Pol threw his sword down in frustration. He really must have been a magician. If he could do what Demeron did, how powerful would he be? It didn’t matter now because Demeron could now help him. He didn’t feel alone at all.

After stripping and tying up the fake guards, Pol searched the area around the shack and found the two Zasosian bodies. He grabbed some paper in the guard shack and after lighting a lantern, he wrote a message in bold letters that said a caravan was coming and bandits had taken over the guard shack.

“Can we travel in the night?” Pol asked Demeron.

Receiving a positive sign, Pol secured the horses after watering them, and then proceeded down the escarpment. He found the tied-up bandit asleep and put down his bedroll at least four paces away.

Morning seemed to come too quickly, but Demeron and Pol headed back down the switchbacks. They pulled the three bandit bodies to the side of the road, and Demeron used his little trick to speed up their descent. Pol figured that Demeron was not only very smart but was pretty much a magician, too.

They were down to the caravan by mid-morning.

The chief guard looked very surprised when Pol rode into the camp.

The caravan master rushed out of his tent. “No caravan?”

Pol shook his head. “I found a band of robbers at the midway point. We don’t have to worry about them. They took over the guard shack at the top, too.” Pol looked at the chief guard as he said it. The man turned white.

Pol heard the pounding of hooves as the young guard galloped away from the caravan, along with two other guards.

“It looks like your confederates abandoned you,” Pol said. He pulled his sword out and pointed it at the unarmed guard.

“Is this true?” the caravan master looked at his chief guard.

“How can you believe a fresh-faced kid?”

The caravan master nodded to some drivers who quickly subdued the chief guard and tied him up.

Pol told him the story but left out Demeron’s magic. “The other horses must have been worked into a frenzy,” Pol said.

They spent the next night at the midway point.

“If I didn’t believe you before, I believe you now,” the caravan master said.

The bandit was unable to remember the details of the fight to recognize the role magic played. That suited Pol well enough.

When they reached the top, the horses still stood, waiting along with a caravan, anxious to make their way down to Kiria.

Pol explained to both caravan masters what had transpired at the top, including showing them the soldiers’ bodies.

“We will give them a proper burial,” one of the Zasosian carriage riders told Pol.

~~~

Chapter Twenty-Five

~

B oth caravans spent the night at the top. In the morning, the two groups headed their separate ways. The caravan master had Pol ride beside his wagon.

“I want you to ride ahead and tell the next guard post what happened at the top of the trail. They will want to get it manned again. Don’t worry about us. I’ve never heard of a caravan assaulted on this road. We’ll be fine with the two remaining guards. I’ll make sure they switch back end duty. You’ll be receiving a big reward in Axtopol. All you have to do is follow the road and head on into the city. There is a caravan depot just before you arrive in Axtopol. Wait there. We should be there in a couple of weeks.”

Pol nodded and headed along the road. It was well-marked. It took him three days to reach the next guard post. It looked big enough to house a full squad, about ten men.

“Stay right there,” one of the guards spoke in broken Kirian.

“I’ve already stopped,” Pol said in Zasosian. “I have some news.”

Pol told them about what happened on the trail up the escarpment and at the guard post at the top.

“That has happened before,” one of the guards admitted. “Perhaps now Axtopol will man it with more than a couple of us.”

“I’ll be happy to go with another guard or two to your capital and describe what happened.”

“You are a seasoned guard for someone your age, if your tale is to be believed.”

Pol shrugged. “You can believe me or not. The caravan that will follow can verify what they saw.”

“You didn’t kill the guards?”

“Why would I?” Pol said. “There are two Kirian bodies at the post, as well as the Zasosian ones.”

The guard pursed his lips. “Very well. Don’t think we won’t check.”

“Go ahead,” Pol said. He tried to quell the frustration building inside.

Pol was soon on the road with two guards, heading towards Axtopol.

“Will we run across any tribes?”

One of the guards shrugged. “Maybe. Just as long as we don’t run into a war.”

“What are those?” Pol said.

“Rival tribes fight all the time. If we come across one, we either stop and wait it out or go around.”

“What happens if we don’t?” Pol asked.

The other guard shook his head. “We could get swept up in the conflict, and we have to struggle to keep out of it. I’ve been caught in one once and don’t want it to happen again.”

“I have a friend who was assigned to a tribe.”

“What did he do?”

“Akil didn’t please his father.”

“Is his father a clan noble?”

Pol nodded. “He is.”

“It is hard to return to the city.”

“How does one go about it?”

“Win,” a guard said. “The tribe has to win five conflicts in a row; then they have the option of living in the city. When that happens, many of the tribal members don’t care to take their reward. Some want to spend their lives on the plains.”

“I don’t get it,” Pol said. “It sounds like some game.”

The guard both nodded their heads. “It is. The clan lords gamble on the tribal fights. They don’t have to bet on their own warriors, although if their tribes win, they get double the winnings.”

Pol had a hard time believing that such a society existed. “Are lives lost?”

“Of course.”

“But the plains are so vast. How can they know if tribes win or lose?”

“Magicians have ways to find out. Each tribe has a magician. They are healers, as well. They have some spell that lets them exchange messages. Sometimes birds are used if a magician dies, but the clan lords will send out another magician when needed.”

“The government condones this?”

“Of course. Do you know who runs Zasos?”

“A ruling council,” Pol said. “Is the council made up of the clan lords?”

Both men nodded, smiling.

Pol couldn’t believe what he just learned. Axtopol was the only city Pol knew in Zasos, and the rest was a gambling preserve for the clan lords. His textbooks didn’t mention the gambling.

“Do you enjoy all this?”

“Government service exempts you from being sent to a tribe.”

Pol doubted if that was totally true. Rules could always be bent. He learned that in political classes at the Academy. He thought that Kiria was a corrupt place after his experience. Zasos was worse if the guards’ descriptions were correct.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Forever, I guess,” one of the guards said. The other nodded in agreement.

The Zasosians were friendly and open, but they had no idea how horrid their society was. Pol felt bad for Akil and wondered how these new revelations would affect his ability to find a powerful magician.

~

A Kirian ran the caravan depot. Just like to the south, the depot consisted of a large, fenced field.

After telling the man his story about the escarpment, Pol asked, “When will the caravan arrive?”

“A week, probably. You’ll be bored if you hang around here. Why don’t you go into Axtopol? I’ll write out an identity form. If you get into any trouble, I’ll get notified and do what I can to help you.”

Pol took the form and read it. “This is written in Kirian. How many Zasosians know our language?”

The man grinned. “You’re the first ever to ask. It’s simple. The authorities see the Kirian script and know enough to get me.”

“I’ll write one up in Zasosian, if you don’t mind.”

“But you said you’ve never been here before,” the depot master said.

“Just because you haven’t lived in a country doesn’t mean you are totally ignorant.”

Pol rewrote the form and went over it word by word to the man, who grumbled a bit but signed it. Pol felt better about that. Now he had a form in Kirian and Zasosian. He had no intention of needing either form, he thought as he rode Demeron into the city.

Axtopol sat on a plateau of its own backed by an eruption of rough mountains that ran all the way from south to north across the escarpment, dividing an uninhabited East from the grasslands in the West. Pol didn’t know what to expect, but Axtopol was larger than Kitanga. It covered half of the elevated space. He looked out at cultivated fields that extended from the city, fanning out miles into the plain.

On his way to the city, most of the land was given over to grasses and small copses of trees and bushes. Could Zasos become green and productive if the tribes stopped roaming around the rest of the country? Pol couldn’t come up with any answers as the view of the cultivated lands became blocked by taller buildings.

The Zasosian capital looked unlike Kirian towns and cities. Most buildings looked thick and blocky. Wooden shutters covered most windows that seemed to be punched into the thick walls. The sharp edges of Kirian concrete had given way to rounded, sculpted shapes with pastel-colored whitewash covering the smooth surfaces. As he made his way further into the city, brick commercial buildings coexisted with the softer, blockier look of the residential areas.

He stopped at a feed store and bought a bag of grain that he could slip over Demeron’s muzzle while he stepped into an adjacent restaurant.

“Foreigner?” the waiter said in an accented approximation of the word.

“I am from Kiria, if that’s what you mean,” Pol said in Zasosian.

The waiter relaxed and grinned. “Thanks, my Kirian is pathetic,” he said.

“My Zasosian will work just fine then,” Pol said returning the waiter’s grin with a smile of his own. “What is good?”

The waiter strung off a menu that Pol didn’t understand.

“Anything not too spicy and no organ meat. Choose something with those restrictions,” Pol said.

Pol pulled out the black silver square that Akil had given him and wondered if it was worth anything now that Akil had been banished to the plains. The waiter returned with a plate of small dishes. Pol must have looked confused.

“You can choose from these.” He pointed to a larger bowl of something that looked like thick porridge. “We put a little of the bowl food into the porridge and scoop it out.”

“I get it. When I tried Zasos food before, there wasn’t any of the porridge.”

The waiter made a face telling Pol he didn’t know, nor did he care, but he grinned again. “Enjoy.”

Pol put down the little black square and found what he liked and didn’t like. Some of the small bowls worked well with the porridge, and some didn’t. He took his time to enjoy solving the little puzzle of mixing and matching to his taste.

He sat back and drank water from the pitcher. It seemed a little flat.

“What’s in the water?” he asked.

“Nothing. It’s just boiled water. We make a large batch every day. It’s not safe to drink untreated water in Axtopol. It’s boiled water or something alcoholic. Water is free; alcohol isn’t.”

“And I didn’t order any. Good, I don’t like alcohol that much,” Pol said. “I don’t like losing control of my mind.”

“A worthy goal, sir. Such an attainment is beyond my reach,” the waiter said. He picked up a few of the empty bowls and noticed the black tile.

“A clan tile. Hawk?”

“What is a clan tile? It is from a member of the Hawk Clan.”

The waiter nodded. “They are among the most powerful of the clans.”

Pol remembered that there were forty-one clans in Zasos.

“Are they council members?”

“Indeed. Lord Boria is one of five on the Clan Council. They are sometimes called the Great Five.”

“How does one become a member of the Great Five?”

“You are ranked highest in the Games.”

“The competition between tribes is tallied?” Pol hadn’t been taught anything about the tribal wars in his Zasos classes at the Academy. The picture that he had in his mind about Zasos was only getting worse.

“What is a clan tile, then?”

“It is a token of value, but it can’t be sold. You don’t know this?”

“I was given this token by Akil D’Boria in Kitanga.”

“Ah, the banished son. He must have thought by giving you the token, you could gain entrance to the family compound and visit.”

“I can still do that,” Pol said.

“Perhaps. If you present that, the guards will take you to Lord Boria. Who knows what the man will do?”

“Is it worth the risk?” Pol said.

The waiter shrugged. “I would just put it back in your pocket and keep it as a souvenir of Zasos when you return to Kiria.”

“Maybe I will,” Pol said, putting the token back in his pocket. He didn’t tell the waiter that he wasn’t returning to Kiria.

Perhaps Lord Boria might know of a powerful magician if he could get an audience with the man. The token would do that but at a risk.

Pol finished the meal and returned the feedbag that Demeron had used. He rode back to the depot to spend the night in a proffered tent.

In the morning, Pol had decided to inquire about powerful magicians. He went from store to store and inquired at a city guard station. They insisted on seeing his papers and let him back out without talking to him.

It seemed there were powerful magicians in Axtopol, but most of them were sent to the tribes, or they worked for an organization called the Placement Bureau.

As much as Pol was loath to admit, he would need to use the black tile to see Akil’s father. Akil knew about rumors of a powerful magician. Maybe his father might know the truth of the rumors.

In the late afternoon, he approached the gates of a massive walled estate.

“I would like to see Lord Boria,” Pol said.

The guard looked up at Pol. “Not anybody is allowed in the Lord’s presence,” the guard said. “It’s time for you to go somewhere else.”

Pol pulled out the tile. “Will this prove I’m more than nobody?”

The guard’s eyebrows shot up. “This will. Take this to the first building on the right. They will arrange an audience.”

Pol walked into the ground floor of a three-story building. A massive board covered the wall behind a long counter. Men and women at desks scurried around. Some ran up the stairway and returned. Pol had never seen such a busy place.

He waited until a woman came to the counter.

“Can I help you?”

“I came to see Lord Boria.” He handed the woman the black tile.

“He is in. I will show him this.”

The woman ran up the stairs while Pol looked at workers change the numbers on the big board. It finally dawned on him that battles were recorded on this board. There must have been hundreds of tribes. There seemed to be only fifteen battles currently in play.

He remembered the Zasosian on the caravan describing the use of magicians to relay information. If every clan had thirty tribes that meant there could be up to twelve hundred tribes. He had no idea how many people were in a tribe, but if there were a hundred, that meant there were only 120,000 people roaming around all of Zasos.

Axtopol had to have at least that number in the city. Kitanga’s population was around 100,000. He shook his head at the low numbers.

“He will see you. Go to the top floor and show the token to the guards.”

Getting in to see Lord Boria was easier than Pol had guessed. Perhaps it was too easy. He loosened the sword at his belt and walked slowly up the stairs while workers passed him going up and going down.

He arrived at a large foyer at the top. A guard sat at a desk with two more flanking a set of double doors. Pol took his tile to the guard at the desk.

“I’m here to see Lord Boria.”

The man nodded and gestured to the other guards to unlock the doors leading inside. Pol heard the lock click again after he stepped into another room filled with desks.

“This way,” a woman said, threading her way through the workers and knocked on another door.

“Enter,” said a voice on the other side.

Pol walked into a massive office. Carpets covered the floor. Shelves filled with labeled boxes lined the room.

“Come,” the older man signaled Pol to stand in front of his desk. “So you know Akil?”

Pol nodded and then bowed, his hands together in front of him. He placed the tile on the outstretched hand of Lord Boria. “We were classmates at the Dragon Academy in Kitanga.”

“The Shinkyan, obviously. Akil mentioned you once. Why aren’t you still there? He said you were a year younger.”

“Circumstances prompted me to leave the Academy early. I came to Axtopol on personal business and decided to pay my respects to the father of my friend.” Pol bowed again.

“Akil is unavailable right now,” Boria said. “You probably know that.”

Pol nodded. “I do. I am seeking a powerful magician.”

“What is his or her name?” Boria asked.

Boria sat up, eager to hear Pol’s response. The action highlighted that his response might carry some risk.

“I don’t have a name. I have a medical condition that can only be properly addressed by a powerful magician. I was told that there are such people in Zasos. I hoped that Akil could have given me such information, but I found on my journey to Axtopol that he was assigned to a tribe.”

“Assigned? You mean banished, don’t you?”  Boria said.

“If that is the proper term, then banished.”

Boria pulled at the beard on his chin and considered Pol. “Do you want to save my son?”

“Save?” Pol thought an aspect of risk would be involved.

“I seem to recall Akil said you were a sword-master. That’s an impressive feat for one of your age. You must be around twenty, eh?”

“I might be of that age. I lost my memories and don’t recall.”

Lord Boria looked at Pol with skeptical eyes. “I still love my son, but I can’t just recall him and maintain my dignity. We have few rules in the Great Games. Any tribe that wins five battles in a row has the option of returning to Axtopol. You might think the tribes would jump at the chance, but most never show up and continue to roam the plains.” Boria shook his head. “I don’t know why, but that’s the way it is. You help Akil win five battles in a row, and I will allow him to return to Axtopol and give you information that will lead you to your magician.”

Pol didn’t like the proposition, but he could serve two purposes: free Akil and find the magician. That depended on Lord Boria telling him the truth.

“How far apart are the wars?”

“Whenever a tribe is ready, they notify us. It could take weeks or months,” Boria said.

“I will take a day to think about it,” Pol said. “There are risks involved.”

“Life is full of risks. I have my position because of the risks I take. Akil isn’t that far away from Axtopol. Go visit him and check it out. All you have to lose is getting more information about a powerful magician who I know.” Lord Boria just exhibited the arrogance he would have expected knowing the Zasos Great Games system a little better now. He wondered how the Lord would feel if he were risking his own life rather than others.

“What about me? Am I enslaving myself?”

Boria shook his head. “Not at all. You aren’t a Zasosian, so you participate as a free agent. You are free to come and go as you like. Bear in mind that the plains can be dangerous.”

“I was warned about that on my way here. A guard told me never to get caught in the midst of a tribal battle. There are only two sides, and if you are on neither, you are fair game for both.”

Boria nodded with a smug smile. “Good advice, if not quite accurate. Join my son, and you won’t have to worry about sides, though, will you?”

“How do I know you’ll keep your end of our agreement?”

“While you are deciding, go to the Placement Bureau. It’s the tallest building in Axtopol. You can’t miss it. The rules are inscribed on the outside walls for all to see.”

Boria tossed Pol’s tile back to him. “That will identify you out on the plains.”

“You seem confident that I will go.”

“I am a gambler, Pol from Kitanga. A successful player knows people. You’ll go once you’ve verified I told you the truth.”

Pol could picture Lord Boria gloating. He had been manipulated into going out on the plains. Pol knew it, but he didn’t have the contacts in the city to find the magician he sought. He always had the option to return at any time. Pol was never really close to Akil, but the Zasosian had always answered his questions and helped him learn Zasosian.

He knew he could help Akil win wars. He and Demeron would strengthen any tribe, Pol thought.

He finally rode up to the Placement Bureau. The six-story building had a single spire that shot up into the sky.  It was very easy to find. It seemed that all roads led to the square that fronted the bureau.

The rules were on two plaques, just as Boria said. There were only twelve. Some of the rules didn’t make any sense to him, but he spotted the five-win rule that Boria mentioned, and the last rule permitted no more than five foreigners to fight in behalf of a tribe. That kept the Great Game from being overrun with mercenaries. Tribes couldn’t remain more than a season at any one spot. How could the Lords know if that happened? Zasos was a vast place, hundreds of miles wide.

A Zasosian walked out of the chambers. Pol stopped him. “I read these rules. How do the lords know where tribes are? How can they monitor where they stay?”

The Zasosian laughed. “Go inside and talk to the people in the Placement Bureau. They will tell you how that happens. Excuse me, I have an appointment.”

Pol watched the man hurry out of the square before he walked through the door into the Placement Bureau.

“Magician from the plains?” the man said at the counter.

“No. I’m a foreigner and trying to get a grasp of how the Great Game is played. How do the lords know who won or who lost on the plains, and how do they locate the tribes?”

“Oh. I see. Talk to the woman over there. She will tell you.”

Pol stopped by a woman with stacks of papers on her desk. “The man over there said you would explain how the tribes use magic.”

“Sit down. I can only tell you about the magic used for the games. What do you know about magic?”

“People have powers to do things others can’t?” Pol shrugged. Kirians didn’t do much with their magicians, so there wasn’t even a class on the subject at the Academy. Most of what he knew came from his few minutes with the figurine maker and a few discussions with the village shaman.

“We have a rune system to communicate with the tribes. It takes a magician to send messages. Anyone can read them.”

“Oh,” Pol said. He wasn’t quite sure he knew how these runes worked.

“You don’t even know what runes are, do you?”

Pol smiled and shook his head.

“There are patterns in everything we do. You might call them routines or order or organization. We call them patterns, and I was told they use that term in Eastril, too.” The woman shrugged. “A magician can manipulate the patterns to do things.”

“Like create a wind that isn’t there?” Pol thought of Demeron’s performance at the midway point up the escarpment.

“Yes, I suppose they could. Certainly, small things can be displaced. It depends on the strength of the magician and what kind of will he or she has. Magicians can store manipulations of the patterns in letters. We call them runes. When a magician powers a rune connected to another, both light up. The person who receives the message can read it and erase it so that the rune can be lit up another time.”

Pol thought about the process. “So you mean there are direct manipulations of the pattern to power the rune and an external manipulations to link the two runes in the first place?”

The woman brightened. “Exactly. Very good. It takes a decent magician to create the runes, but a lesser talent to activate them.”

“But there are limitations?”

The woman nodded. “The runes don’t do much in the physical realm. You can’t write a rune to blow a person over, but you can write runes that will activate other runes over far distances.”

“Like sending a letter? You use runes as couriers?”

“Nearly instantaneous, we think. Tribal magicians have rune books. They activate runes in the book that will resonate with runes we have here in the Placement Bureau. The runes don’t mean anything. It’s the linking that activates them. We learn when a tribe has won, or we can give the tribes instructions to fight another nearby tribal enemy. So we place the tribes where they can battle. That’s why we’re called the Placement Bureau.”

“But how can you locate the tribes?”

“Ah, there is a locator rune in the book that activates on a grid of runes placed on a map of Zasos here at the Bureau. It isn’t the same as the information runes and was activated a long time ago. The tribes ask us for their location, and we activate a series of numbers that they can use with a magic map.”

“So the communications aren’t secret?”

The woman shook her head. “Tribes like to play games with the location of their rune book, but if they are caught, their lord automatically loses all the bets on his board. It helps keep the Lords honest.

Pol remembered the rule about losing bets if a book was lost or misused, and now the rule made sense.

“I’m looking for powerful magicians. Do you know of any?”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “We don’t have powerful magicians for long on Zasos. Magic isn’t permitted in Axtopol. This office is here to assign magicians to the tribes and re-assign magicians whose tribe has been too weakened to remain a fighting entity.”

“So magicians are protected?”

The woman nodded. “It’s the white rule. ‘Those holding the book can wear white for protection. If a tribe kills the other person’s magician or healer, the tribe will lose two victories.’  It doesn’t stop the turnover, but it helps. The lords don’t want to lose magicians, let me tell you.”

“The book is the book of runes, obviously. What if everyone in a tribe wears white?”

The woman looked at Pol with astonished eyes. “It just isn’t done. Only a few tribe members are book keepers. The tribes operate on a warrior code.”

“So how do the runes work? Do they change?”

“As I said before, the runes glow when activated. The runes glow on the map when activated or when the rune is activated.”

Pol had a thought. He pulled out the black tile. Is this a rune?”

“How did you get this?” She looked from the tile in her hand to Pol.

“Akil D’Boria is an acquaintance. I am thinking of helping him get his five victories.”

“That isn’t a rune. It’s an identification tile.” She peered at Pol. “Did Lord Boria put you up to this?”

Pol nodded. “He did.” He would help his friend return to Axtopol. That would be reward enough. He had made up his mind. “Do you have any suggestions about heading out into the plains?”

The woman shook her head. “It’s a dangerous place.”

“I can take care of myself,” Pol said, “as long as Akil isn’t at the far end of the country.”

“Let me check,” the woman said.  She walked behind the game board and returned holding a piece of paper. “They are two days’ ride along the river that comes down from the mountains a few hours south from here.”

She confirmed Lord Boria’s claim that Akil was near. Pol didn’t have anything to lose. His future certainly didn’t exist in Kiria, and he was convinced it wasn’t in Zasos either. If he couldn’t find a magician, then he would journey to Deftnis Monastery. Maybe they could find a powerful magician.

He thanked the woman and walked out into the sunshine. He mounted Demeron and wouldn’t wait a day before telling Lord Boria of his acceptance. Pol looked back at the Placement Bureau. The woman lied when she said the only magicians were out on the plains. Someone had to create the runes and maintain the system. He wondered why.

He found Boria down on the first floor talking to a few of the workers.

“You’ve made a decision?”

“I’m going to talk to Akil. If I stay, I will help him with his victories.”

“I like your spirit,” Boria said. “You’ll be a wonderful addition to his tribe. It will be a while before the oddsmakers catch up.”

“You’re going to be making money when I join Akil’s tribe?”

“I don’t mince words. I exist to win. You help me win, and I will reward you. Help Akil win, and I’ll accept him back into the compound.”

Pol stood silent for a moment. Boria made him upset. Pol wasn’t interested in what Boria won, but he didn’t see a way to find out about a magician any other way. Perhaps once he got among the tribesmen, he would learn more of what he wanted to know.

As Boria said, Pol was a free agent. He could withdraw any time he wanted.

“If you want to wait, I’ll locate his tribe,” Boria said.

Pol waved Akil’s location to him. “Already taken care of.”

~~~

Chapter Twenty-Six

~

P ol gave himself another day to inquire about a powerful magician but made no more headway. Everyone said all the magicians were in the employ of the Placement Bureau or out on the plains.

He left word with the depot master to hold onto his caravan pay. There was a store close to the yard, and since there weren’t any caravans in at the moment, Pol got some good prices on the food supplies and the one-man tent he’d need to travel north.

The small plateau had a short switchback road that led onto the plains. The river that the woman talked about dropped in a cascade of falls. It flowed through cultivated lands until the farms abruptly stopped and the plains began.

Pol spent a restless night and was glad for dawn to arrive. He had no idea how far Akil was, but he should intersect with him that day.

“Demeron, can you ride fast again?”

The horse gradually picked up speed and Pol could feel the wind as the horse used his kind of magic to bring them closer to their destination.  Just after midday, they arrived at the remains of a camp.

The tracks looked fresh. It was easy to find the trail, and before nightfall, Pol reached the traveling tribe.  He threaded his way through surprised warriors until he reached Akil, riding at the head of a column.

“Pol! I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“I came to help you.” Pol grinned. “ I still need to find a powerful magician, and the Dragons unceremoniously expelled me from the Academy.”

“You didn’t see Kiria as a place to live? Do you think Zasos might be better?” Akil said.

Pol began to notice the curious looks from the tribesmen. They didn’t look much different than he did. He had expected animal skins and hats made out of animal skulls.

“Where is all the armor? Don’t you protect yourself from the fighting?”

“On the carts,” Akil said. “You saw my father?”

Pol pulled out the black tile. “I did. He told me to help you get five victories in a row, and then he’ll tell me where a suitably elevated magician is.”

Akil said, “You are a fool for coming out here, you know.”

“I can return at any time. Why can’t you?”

“Didn’t my father have you read the rules? He always made me when I wanted something different.”

“So five victories, and you can return home. Your father said he still loves you as his son.”

“He wants to win. Five victories are not so easy.”

Pol grinned. “What do you want?”

“The tribe doesn’t like me as their leader. We’ve won once in three tries.”

“You now have Demeron and me.”

“Demeron?”

“My black horse,” Pol said.

“Oh, yes, the big one.”

“He has more than physical strength. When are you stopping? Do you travel through the night?”

“Ha! That’s why we were ordered to leave. I wondered. My father wanted you to arrive at our camp on the river without us being there.”

“I know how to track. A group this size is easy.”

“You never told me about that.”

“I told you I get pieces of my memory back when I need them…for some things. I guess I used to know how to follow trails.” Pol smiled. “See? I’ve already benefited from coming out to visit you.”

“We have a war arranged for next week. I was told to get to the new camp. We’ll be there tomorrow at noon if we don’t stop.”

“You don’t sleep?”

Akil shook his head. “There will be time for that when we arrive. If anyone can’t make it, they can sleep in a wagon.”

“Do you like this life?”

Akil looked at Pol from the corners of his eyes. “What do you think?”

~

The entire tribe collapsed when they reached the site. A spring bubbled up not far from their destination. A few guards stayed awake, having slept during the morning in the wagons.

Pol woke before nightfall and looked around at the tribe. The travelers did not look like slaves. They appeared to be well-fed and cheerful enough. The sky was wide, stretching from horizon to horizon. Pol’s rush to the city with the guards gave him a taste of the plains, but now he just took it all in. It reminded Pol of somewhere else, but that memory wasn’t going to appear.

A woman in white walked through the camp. She bent over to talk to a person here and there. Pol moved towards her.

“I’m Pol from Kiria,” he said.

“You look more like a Shinkyan I met some years ago.” The healer wasn’t young, but not into middle age. She wasn’t beautiful, but looked pretty and healthy, Pol thought.

“Everyone tells me I look like a Shinkyan, but I don’t feel like a Shinkyan. Do you perform magic?” She sat on a patch of grass and motioned for Pol to join her.

“It’s my job, but I don’t think of it as performing anything. Mostly I work as a healer, and I read my book a number of times every day to make sure we are where we need to be.

“What about your location? I was told there is a map with a lot of runes on it.”

“Oh. You’ve been doing some investigating, eh?” She gave him a nice smile. “When we get our training, we get to see it. There are over two thousand approved campsites. Each one has a rune. When we reach our destination, I activate the rune, and that lights up a rune in Axtopol telling the Bureau where we are.”

“Can you send specific messages?”

She shook her head. “They all go to matching runes in Axtopol. There is a whole group of magicians that are constantly charming rune books and another group that sends instructions to us. Magicians aren’t needed to read the runes, and all you need is a lodestone wand to turn the glowing off.”

“An army could send messages back and forth with the rune books.”

“We have one-thousand and seventeen armies at present,” she said. “It’s a horrible business though. We live to fight others.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t do any fighting, but the warriors in the tribe do. If I didn’t love the plains so much, I’d be making runes at the Placement Bureau.”

“Magicians aren’t used for anything else?”

“Not for a thousand years. The Great Game sucks them all up.”

Pol still tried to grapple with the system. “Why does everybody accept the fighting?”

“There are different reasons. It isn’t so bad on the plains. There is an economy. After a war, we trade. I’ve healed more of our opponents than ourselves. The plains provide us with meat and vegetables. All you probably see is grass with the occasional stand of trees, but I can show you our wild crops.”

“Won’t the Lords be angry?”

The healer shook her head. “Why? If we can be self-sustaining, what does our well-being cost them? All they care about are the scores and who won.”

Akil approached. “Telling him all of our secrets, Gula?”

She smiled up at Akil. “That’s never been forbidden.”

Akil hunched down. “Life isn’t so bad out here. We can feed ourselves. There is trade of simple items. The tribes don’t harbor ill feelings towards each other, just the lords.”

“Your father.”

Akil nodded. “That’s one of the problems between our tribe and me.”

Pol wondered. “What would make your lives better?”

“Easy, no wars. If that happened, half of Axtopol would flood into the plains.”

“From what I can see the plains could sustain that many,” Pol said.

“For a while.” Gula hugged her knees. “Without the games to maintain the size of the tribes, a few generations later, the plains would be filled.”

Pol thought that was a problem for a later time, and it would take a lot more than a few generations to fill up what he had just ridden through. He hoped he wouldn’t be around to solve it, but he didn’t know where he would be until he recaptured his memories.

“Armor. We could use some armor. There is little metal available to us out here. The victor gets to exchange for the loser’s metal. We’ve lost too much, and now our armor is the worst.”

Pol raised his eyebrows. “Do you have any tanned leather?”

Gula nodded. “We use the skins of animals for all kinds of things. There is a tough plains bush that provides us with tannin. Our leather is good for clothing and tents, but not tough enough for shoes and saddles. We have to ask for supplies from Lord Boria, and that always comes with a price.”

“What kind of price?”

“Children to train for war. When our children reach the end of adolescence, they are sent to Axtopol for training. Warriors train, magicians and healers are taught, and marriages are made. The Bureau sends couples out to the tribes. They generally do not return to their original clans.”

“No inbreeding?”

“You know about that, do you? Right. It keeps the clans healthier.”

The thought of children being taken and moved to different tribes disturbed Pol, but these people seemed to accept the practice. The nomads might think they were free, but Pol thought they were unwitting slaves. Perhaps he could help Akil’s tribe cast off the bonds that held them to the endless cycle of battles.

Pol couldn’t solve those problems immediately, but he could help them in the short term. He did remember how to boil leather. “I can make the leather stronger.” He told them about making armor in his village. “The Dragons mold breast pieces as one unit, but you can create scaled armor. It works, I’ve tested it.”

Akil put Gula and Pol together along with some other women to make the armor. Pol told them what to look for. They tested the leather pieces and found that they needed a bit more time in the hot water to get the leather to the right hardness.

It took them three days to make a leather armor vest.

“Can we use a wheel to curve the leather a bit to make epaulets?” Pol said.

“Oh, shapes. Let us play with the shapes, now that you have taught us how to stiffen the leather.”

Pol nodded and let the women get to work. It was time to see how the warriors fought.

“What do you do for tactics?” Pol asked Akil.

“We line up and charge each other.”

“You went to the Academy. Do you think that is adequate?”

“That’s the way of the warrior.”

Pol couldn’t believe it. “So you just let everyone have at it?”

“The strongest tribe wins.”

“What if we changed it to the smartest tribe wins?”

Akil looked at Pol with questioning eyes. “Can we do that?”

“The rules don’t forbid it, do they?”

“No.”

“Then let’s get your warriors together and work something out. Leather armor is better than no armor, but it won’t win a war.”

Akil and Pol got all the warriors together and talked about how they currently fought.

Taking a different approach took them all aback.

“Do your women fight?” Pol asked.

He got blank stares.

“Would they like to fight?”

“Some would,” one of the warriors said.

“Then find out who would like to fight. Warriors who are forced to do something won’t last as long in the field as warriors who fight willingly. Am I correct?”

Pol’s memories provided him with concepts about battlefield principles, but not specifics. Whatever blocked his memories restricted him from remembering people and places.

“Do you know the battlefields?”

“They are pre-determined and are about the same distance between the two campgrounds.”

Over the centuries, the Bureau must have developed detailed maps of the entire plateau.

“How far out do the tribes range?”

“It takes a month for a tribe to travel to the western edge of Zasos from Axtopol and two weeks to get to the eastern side, but the mountains cut off the East. It is said to be very arid on the other side, so the tribes don’t travel in the East.”

“Have any of you been to the East?” Pol asked.

Even Akil shook his head.

From what Pol remembered, eastern Zasos was a quarter the size of the West, but that was still a lot of land. He didn’t need to know what went on, if anything, to the east, so he went over some basic tactics with a mounted force supported by infantry.

The warriors began to treat one of their wars, which was generally only one battle, as a hunting foray. They used more strategy to hunt than they did to fight. The concept prompted them to become excited talking about the new tactics. Pol asked Akil to write down what they talked about.

“Now let’s go look at the battlefield.”

Pol followed the warriors with Akil riding at his side.

“You are even making me excited.”

Pol had never seen Akil excited, ever at the Academy. “You didn’t participate,” Pol said.

“It’s their battle. I’ll pitch in when the time comes, but you are doing better than I ever could. You seem to have experience working with others.”

“I must have done something similar.”

They arrived at the battlefield an hour later. Pol looked at the rolling terrain. The grass grew in clumps between bare spots on the ground.

“How often does this get used?” Pol asked.

“There are a lot of tribes, so maybe six or seven times a year?”

Pol thought it would be more than that. He looked out over the ground and found it undulating.

“Come with me,” he said.

Pol found a ravine a few minutes away. “We could hide reserves in here,” Pol said.

“Reserves?” one of the warriors said.

“To surprise our prey,” Pol replied with a hunting concept. “We can force them to go in this direction and then attack from the front and the back.”

“That’s not fair,” one of the warriors said.

“Is losing fair? Is having the other tribe pick through your metal fair? War is a matter of who controls the battlefield. If we can move the enemy towards this ravine, our chance for success goes up. What happens at the end? Does the enemy surrender?”

Akil nodded. “When arms go up, the warrior is out of the fight.”

“I didn’t notice that in the rules.”

“Undue force,” a warrior said. “That covers a lot of dirty tricks, but not this.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“No undue force, then, but overwhelming force,” Pol said. He pulled out a piece of paper that he had brought along and sketched out the battlefield.

They rode back to the camp in time for a communal meal, but Pol wasn’t ready to stop. He took Demeron to a large area of bare dirt where another tribe might have stayed and sketched out the battlefield, but in large enough scale for Demeron to see.

“What can you do to direct the horses?” Pol said. “If you had ten horses, where would you put them?”

Demeron put a hoof down on the ravine. Pol looked at it. “If the warriors won’t use it you can. What is your second choice?”

It took Pol more than half an hour, but the session gave him some interesting options if Demeron felt confident he could get the horses to help like he did at their battle on the escarpment.

They returned to the camp, and Pol still had enough time to grab some food. He took Akil aside and presented him with his ideas, using some of the tribe’s horses.

“I don’t believe you,” Akil said.

“I’ll give a demonstration tomorrow. If Demeron can’t direct the tribe’s horses, I don’t want you to use them.” Pol smiled at Akil.

The Zasosian nodded, but then broke into a sly smile. “I don’t believe you, but I don’t mind being proven wrong. I will stay awake tonight thinking about tomorrow.”

Pol didn’t believe in staying awake but thought that might be a Zasosian saying.

The day dawned with a light overcast. Pol woke up to Demeron standing by his tent. The horse looked excited, waving his mane and prancing.

“Are you ready?”

Demeron nodded.

After an early breakfast, Pol herded the warriors to the field where their horses had foraged the previous two days.

Demeron led eight horses, trotting across the field. They stopped and turned around a full circle and galloped off. Then the horses gathered at one end and formed a battle line that galloped to the other end.  Demeron pranced to Pol, who patted Demeron on the jaw.

“You couldn’t have done better,” he said.

The rest of the tribe stood silent, not believing what had just happened. Pol stepped out to face them.

“Demeron is more than just a horse. He communicates with me and can lead other horses. He can fight as well. I don’t know how well your horses can handle battle, but horses under Demeron’s command helped me fight off a band of ten robbers.  If you want to win, he and the horses give you a new weapon to fight with.”

Pol looked at the eyes of the warriors and the rest of the tribe. They were impressed.

He took Akil aside. “You know Demeron, and I won’t be with you forever, but we will be here long enough for five straight victories.”

Akil shook his head. “I thought you didn’t know what you were talking about when you talked about the victories, but I think we can do it.”

“The tribes will adapt to our tactics,” Pol said. “You can’t use the same approach every time. You know that.”

Akil smiled. “I do remember that from the Academy. We won’t. I understand what you did at the battlefield. Everyone will be different, so we will have to be creative.”

“Not too creative,” Pol said. “Just change things up to create uncertainty in your enemy’s head.”

“I didn’t learn that at the Academy.”

“Neither did I,” Pol said, wondering where he had.

~~~

Chapter Twenty-Seven

~

T he first battle went according to plan. The horses were lined up at the ravine, and the women and a few non-combatant men took tent poles to use as pikes, hiding in the grass for an hour before the battle was set to begin.

The other tribe attacked as they usually did. Pol, leading the pikers, had them stand at Akil’s signal and run towards the horses, forcing the attackers ahead.

Demeron brought his horses out of the ravine at a whistle and charged the other tribe just as the warriors charged. Attacked on three sides, hands shot into the air.  No one was killed for the first time anyone remembered in a skirmish.

The healers ran out from both sides and found that they had little to do. Both healers activated runes indicating that the Hawk clan had been the victors.

“I don’t think what you did is fair,” the chief of the opposing tribe said. “We were so confused.”

Pol arranged a feast to be held after the fight. The warriors from the other tribe were a little leery, but as soon as some alcohol was brought out, everyone relaxed.

“How did you train your horses to attack? I’ve never seen such a thing.”

Pol grinned. “My horse is exceptionally well-trained, and the horses just followed his lead.”

The chief looked a little skeptical. “I’ve never see those long poles used before.”

Akil nodded. “They are called pikes. I learned about them at the Academy, along with Pol.”

“Ah, yes. Is it fair to have someone with such knowledge out on the plains?”

“Do the rules forbid it?” one of the Hawk warriors said.

Everyone laughed. Pol knew it would only take a few years before pikes were in common use in tribal warfare.

Later, after their opponents had gone, followed by members of the tribe anxious to see what kind of metal they could exchange, Pol sought out Akil. “How soon do you fight them again?”

“Not for some time,” Akil said. “Maybe two years or more.”

“Good. Expect innovation once the warriors see different tactics employed.”

“I’ve already thought of it.”

Pol tried to recall the rules. “What about bows and arrows?”

“Forbidden. Projectile weapons are not allowed.”

“Do you use bows and arrows?”

Akil laughed. “Of course. We like eating meat, so we hunt with them. Why do you ask?”

“It’s a weapon I’ve never gotten the hang of,” Pol said. “Can you teach me?”

“Not me!” Akil said. “We have two exceptional archers in the tribe. I’ll have them assess your capabilities and get you trained properly.”

~

Pol stood facing a copse of trees. A man and a woman, both armed with short bows similar to Pol’s, shot arrows into a tree. Both of them hit the center.

Pol pulled back the string. He had only used a bow a few times at the Academy and knew he had used one before, but he didn’t have the confidence he felt throwing knives or using a sword.

His arrow skittered off the edge of the tree and proceeded on into the woods.

“What is wrong? I can’t seem to get what’s wrong?”

“Another,” the woman said.

Pol shot another arrow with similar results.

“You aren’t capturing the flow,” the man said. “Good archers feel a cadence. I’ve always called it a flow. There is a connected pattern that you need to follow. Nock your arrow. Pull back. Sight your target. Wait for the right moment, and then let the arrow fly. You lack a feel for the timing. Sometimes people need to count the sequence, something that will allow them to connect with all the actions that causes the arrow’s flight.”

The woman laughed. “He’s right, but the way I see it, you don’t have any timing. You just go through each step without becoming part of it. Is that how you swing a sword?”

Pol shook his head. “Let me show you a practice form.”

He pulled out his sword and went through his normal practice routine.

“Can you tell the difference between what you just did and how you shot the arrow?”

Pol got it immediately. “The flow.”

The man nodded. “Get the flow down and then work on your accuracy.”

The pair of them worked with Pol for an hour or so getting Pol to connect all of the movements. He could see how they could shoot arrows accurately one after another.

“It takes practice. We’ll see how you do tomorrow.”

Pol stayed a bit longer looking at the tree. He didn’t shoot an arrow, but he visualized it hitting right in the middle.

Learning to shoot properly took Pol’s mornings for the next week until Gula approached Akil.

“Another war,” Akil told Pol. “It looks like the Placement Bureau is speeding up our matches.”

“Fine with me,” Pol said.

A week and a half later, the tribe arrived at their new campground. Pol consulted his map. They had moved away from Axtopol and were deep into the interior of Zasos.

They used the same process to develop a battle plan, but this time there were no ravines to hide the horses. The land was flat all around, but the grasses were waist high.

“When is the battle?”

“An hour before noon. It’s always an hour before noon,” Akil said.

Pol looked up at the sky. He had wondered if he could build an advantage using the sun to their backs, but that wouldn’t work. In the end, they decided the horses would hide in the grass and stand up at the whistle.

The warriors tried it, and it seemed to work, but the horses didn’t get to their feet quickly enough to provide the surprise they did on their first match.

The match wasn’t as easy as the first. A few of the pikers were struck when the warriors didn’t surrender as easily as the first tribe.  Pol jumped up on Demeron and concentrated on saving members of the tribe. This time there were two dead on the opponent side, and the enemy killed one of his pikers.

A mood of disappointment filled the air. Akil didn’t hold a feast this time, but still, the casualties were less than normal.

Pol knew the horses rising from the grasses would have less impact, and he overestimated the surprise factor. Even so, the tribe came through the fight as the winner and improved the quality of their arms and armor.

The women finally finished five vests of the leather armor. With two straight wins, Pol suggested that the pikers wear the armor. They needed head protection. Pol asked what they could use for a mold.

One of the women walked out into the grass and returned. She grinned as she held up a large human skull. “Will this work?”

Pol nodded. “Did you desecrate a grave?”

The woman shook her head. “That doesn’t happen in the plains. Our bodies are left to become one with the earth. It’s easier that way. There is a field of skeletons over there.” She pointed towards where she had come. “The grass always grows taller over the dead.”

Pol had to admit that was a practical approach. He observed three women stretching a boiled leather piece over the skull, creating a cap. One of the women tried it on the next morning after the leather was thoroughly dry.  She grinned. “It works!”

Now the pikers had some protection.

Pol finally picked up the flow that the archers talked about. He could feel the steps burned into his actions. His marksmanship began to improve with a few tips on sighting and waiting for the right moment to shoot.

His results were improving, and he felt he would like to go on a hunt.

The healer had a map of each camp in her rune book and notes made by previous healers, and hers indicated the presence of wild boar in a copse a few hours’ march away. Several women archers and women carrying the poles they used for pikes followed the men. Everyone went on foot.

The pikers stayed outside the little wood. There was an abundance of undergrowth. Pol carried his sword, as well as his bow and a quiver of arrows.

Everyone spread out. Pol heard a sound in the underbrush and nocked an arrow. He tossed a branch towards the sound and heard snorting. A boar ran out. Pol took a quick breath and let the flow take him. His arrow hit the boar in the shoulder and it dropped.

He pulled his sword. So far, so good, he thought. He called out, and a woman carrying a pike found him. She poked the boar with her pole. The animal stood and began to charge. Pol stood in front of the woman and cut down the boar with his sword before the animal could reach the woman.

“You are very fast,” the woman said.

Pol bent down and cut the boar’s throat. He breathed heavily. The boar’s charge had surprised him. “Just fast enough,” he said. “What do we do now?”

“Wait a bit for the boar to bleed out, then we tie him to the pole.”

“What?” Pol didn’t quite understand.

“Did you think we would drag the beast all the way to camp?”

Pol laughed. “I might have.”

The party caught two more boars.

“We try to leave the females alone,” one of the warriors said. “There will be more tribes passing this way.”

That made sense to Pol. He learned a few more things during the trip. He now had confidence in his archery, although he would need much more practice, and the trip had already taught him more about the tribal way of life.

The healer had consulted her book, and their next match would take place in another week. The tribe approved of that. They began to smoke the meat and cure the hides. Pol asked if the boar skins were ever made into leather armor, but the healer told him no. Boar hide was soft and pliable. They would use the hides for clothes and lacings. Armor leather would come from larger animals, like the oxen that roamed the plains.

Pol liked the fresh meat, but the women and non-combatant men scoured the grasses. They gathered all kinds of tubers and other vegetables that grew beneath the endless sea of grass. Pol had thought they were just some weeds, but it ended up that most of those plants were edible.

He went on a gathering mission and found it easy to return with a bagful of vegetables. No wonder the tribes looked so healthy. They never went hungry. Gula said the campsites were all chosen close to springs that popped up everywhere on the plains.

It was time to survey the battlefield. This one was long and narrow with gullies on both sides. That would act as a barrier to the pikers. So this time they wouldn’t be able to hide. The new terrain called for a new plan.

None of their previous tactics applied to this battle.

“Is there a rule about attacking from the rear?” Pol asked.

“No.”

“Then what stops us from having our pikers circle and come up behind the attackers?”

“What did our tribe members do when we fought the other two battles?” Akil said.

“They watched. So, the other tribe’s spectators will be on the other side. We can bring our horses through them. That will be more of a surprise than the pikers. In battle histories, the pikers often formed a barrier to protect the horses, but that doesn’t work for us. We don’t want to lose a bunch of pikers, do we?”

“One of them is my wife,” one of the warriors said.

“They are all part of the tribe, right?” Pol said. “So why don’t they follow behind. We are going to have to approach this like a normal battle. Line against line. That’s what we start with, and then the horses and pikers will mix things up a bit.”

“I hope we haven’t gone soft,” Akil said.

Pol pictured the battle in his mind. “I have an idea. What if the warriors held the pikes? Do we have extra weapons for the pikers? There can be an initial charge with the warriors poking the enemy first and then drawing their swords. Do we have enough poles?”

“Barely. I’m willing to sleep under the stars if we win again,” one of the female pikers said.

Pol nodded. “Let’s try this. If it works, we will find more poles and attack in formations, but not now. We don’t have much time to practice formations, but let’s have a run-through tomorrow morning.”

Everyone split up. Pol sought out Demeron in the cool evening.

Pol wanted to use another horse, but Demeron shook his head.

“Can you order the horses to attack if you aren’t there to lead?”

The horse nodded.

“Very well. I want to practice what we will do tomorrow morning.”

~

The horses charged from the opposite side, and it looked more like a stampede than a formation without Demeron to lead them, but Pol thought that would work. The tribe they fought would try to do the same on another tribe, if the Hawks prevailed.

The warriors went through ten charges with the pikes. On the last two tries, they looked much better, and a real charge like that could end the battle quickly.

At an hour before noon the next day, the tribes assembled.

Pol sat on Demeron at the center of the line. He would slam into the enemy line first. Pol had to make the charge count.

Akil looked worried but resolute. The rest of the warriors looked forward to the battle. Their opponents looked worried. They shifted in their saddles, and some of them sheathed their weapons to wipe sweaty palms on their trousers.

Pol grunted, and the poles lowered, pointing at the opposite line.

“Attack!” a warrior on the other side said.

Pol grasped his pole while Demeron crossed the gap far ahead of the other riders. The blunt pole caught a warrior in the shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground. Pol ended up too far in the middle of the enemy. The other Hawk warriors hadn’t even made it across yet. He pulled out his sword and his long knife and began to fight for his life.

Pol and Demeron twirled around, fighting surprised opponents. All of a sudden the battle line shook as the Hawk warriors collided with the enemy. Men fell to the ground and struggled to get up.

Demeron reared up and neighed. The horses, late to the battle like the last time finally rushed through the enemy spectators and collided with the rear guard. The pikers arrived and began poking their enemy in the legs.

An enemy hand went up. Another followed, and soon the battle had ended.

Pol nursed cuts to his arms and thighs. The pikers withdrew, still holding their weapons. Demeron must have been issuing orders as their horses threaded their way through the fighters and ambled back to camp.

Camp members ran in with bandages. There were no fatalities this time, but there were a few amputations as a result of the fight, and a horse had died, impaled on a pole.

“Are all the battles this quick?” Pol asked Akil as they both sat on the ground, waiting for Gula or one of her helpers to get to them.

Akil shook his head. “None of them last longer than half-an-hour,” he said. “This is my sixth one. Yours are quicker, though. I thought you were going to die out there by yourself.”

Pol had to agree. “Demeron is too fast. I learned not to outrun my fellow warriors today. I was marooned for a moment. I could feel the crash of the poles. The impact rippled through their line.”

“I didn’t realize it, but their warriors outnumbered ours by fifteen. We’ve never had to deal with that kind of disadvantage before.”

Pol thought about that. “Can we talk to their chief?”

Akil nodded. “You don’t think my father is up to anything?”

“It doesn’t have to be your father. Some other lord might be secretly tilting the odds in his favor.”

“Can your father bet against you?”

Akil nodded. “It’s a cruel game,” he said.

“Someone is meddling with battle scheduling. That means number four will be worse than number three.”

They verified that eighteen warriors entered their camp a few days ago. They were members of the same clan, but that might not mean anything if Akil’s words were correct.

Pol could see the lords colluding with others for temporary advantage.  Pol walked through the camp and unintentionally kicked a rock. He picked it up and tossed it against the side of a wagon. He looked at the scuff mark on the wood and had a thought. The tribes didn’t use shields! If other tribes began to use pikes, then the Hawks would counter with shields.

Pol didn’t know if the Hawk pikers would be able to handle shields as well as pikes. He’d have to talk to the rest of the tribe about it. Pol could see that his innovations were going to lead to an escalation in arms, but as long as the Hawks got their five wins, he could handle that.

The entire battle system had been stuck in stasis for centuries. Pol guessed it took an outsider to stir things up. He hoped that there would be a breakdown in the Great Games, but he wouldn’t count on it. The leaders of the country had heavily-vested interests in keeping the vicious battle system alive.

If nothing else, their three straight wins already led to a response. That would mean quicker matches to have someone beat them.

Akil shook Pol’s shoulder. “Doing some heavy thinking?”

Pol smiled. “I think it’s a habit.”

“Keep it up. The eyes of the Clan Lords have finally spotted us,” Akil said. “The reinforcements came directly from the training center in Axtopol. Reinforcements are not violations of the rules, but there are a thousand tribes out here, and now reinforcements won’t be available for other tribes. If you recall, once you are in a tribe, you stay in a tribe.”

“How do matches get arranged?”

Akil had to think. “The Placement Bureau sets them up.”

“But it looks like that system can be manipulated, or there wouldn’t have been fifteen new Water tribe warriors all of a sudden.”

“The Clan Lords answer to no one,” Akil said, “but they are bound to follow the rules, or they can’t participate in as many matches.”

“Says who?”

“The Placement Bureau.”

Pol got the impression that the Placement Bureau might be as powerful as the Clan Lords. “Who runs the Placement Bureau?”

Akil shook his head. “No one knows. It is an anonymous position, so the Clan Lords won’t put undue pressure on the games.”

It was possible that the Lords still had the latitude to cheat or the Placement Bureau worked to tilt the odds. Well, that would mean the Hawks would cheat as long as Pol could convince them to do so.

“I was thinking of making some shields. Don’t you remember them mentioned at the Academy?”

Akil looked a bit stunned. “Do you think the warriors would use them?”

“We have to realize that every innovation we use, other tribes will copy and put it into their battle plans, even stampeding horses, although, without Demeron’s lead, that particular element would quickly end.”

“We need two more wins. Shields might get us past our fourth.”

~~~

Chapter Twenty-Eight

~

P ol checked with Gula to see if they had enough bandages.

“Where do you get the cloth to make clothes and bandages?”

“And tents?” she said. “Twice a year, the clans send out supply wagons. Clans that do well might get more metal, cookware, weapons and armor, but we all get clothes and medical supplies. Some herbs are hard to find on the plains but are grown on farms close to Axtopol. The wagons are left behind, and the drivers will ride back to the capital.”

“Don’t you ever get to return?”

Gula shook her head. “We are not allowed to marry other tribe members, so the women become part of their new husband’s clan.”

“Was that how it worked for you?”

Gula nodded. “They tested me for magic in Axtopol when I arrived at sixteen. I spent another year training on how to activate runes and work the book, as well as healing. I came with my husband who died in the third year. I’ve been a widow ever since.”

Pol furrowed his brow. “But if all the warriors are killed, I would think each tribe would have many unattached women.”

“We can return to Axtopol and work on the Clan Chiefs’ farms. It happens enough to keep the balance out on the plains. You may think it’s a hard life out here, but it isn’t, other than the fighting. I’d rather heal than pull weeds.”

“But you are a magician.”

“There is no need to use the book in Axtopol, and they have plenty of healers.”

If Pol read the woman correctly, her life was little more than a trap. “There seemed to be plenty of free people in the city.”

“Five straight wins, and you can live in the city. Living in Axtopol has its disadvantages. There is no unemployment out here,” Gula said.

Pol hadn’t spent much time in Axtopol, but like any other city, it would have its poorer sections. He could see Gula’s point. He changed the subject.

“Do you know of any powerful magicians in Axtopol?”

“They all work for the Placement Bureau,” Gula said.

“More powerful than those. Have you heard any rumors among the other healers?”

“There used to be a very powerful magician that rose up against the Clan Lords just before I was born. The Lords banished him from Axtopol. He headed up the mountains and was never seen again. His name…” She tapped her finger on her cheek. “Traxus. His name was Traxus, and he was a member of the Hound Clan. They were the ones who supposedly exiled him to the East.”

“How do you remember something happening that long ago?”

“I heard about him when I trained in the capital. Girls get together and talk about romantic futures. He was talked about as a hero who could swoop down from the mountains and take them away to a secret cave filled with jewels and silk clothes.”

Pol smiled. “Seems like a fantasy to me.” One that might have a kernel of truth, and that might be the magician Boria would be talking about. It matched up to the magician Akil might have mentioned at the Academy. He would have to find out.

“We will be making shields,” Pol said. “I wish we could make them out of leather, but if another tribe sharpens their pikes, they’ll go right through. Can we spare the wood?”

“There are always a few abandoned wagons at each site. You wouldn’t notice since we let the grass grow around our refuse dumps. I can take you to the one near here.”

Pol followed Gula past the wagons and through the tall grass. He looked down and saw plants snaking their way through the grass, and there were patches of other greenery on its own. After about one hundred steps, he saw about twenty wagon carcasses in various stages of decay.

After inspecting the wood, Pol came back to the camp encouraged. Akil walked up to him. “Where did you go with Gula?”

Pol didn’t take offense at Akil’s words. “We looked for an edge to our next fight.”

“Edge?” Akil said.

Gula nodded. “Pol wants to make shields. There is more than enough good wood at the wagon dump.”

“Oh,” Akil grinned. “I didn’t think of that.”

Gula patted Akil on the shoulder. “Another year or two out here and you would.”

Pol looked at Akil who didn’t look happy at the thought.

“Then let’s talk to the warriors,” Pol said.

~

Gula walked quickly to Akil. “We have another fight in eight days.”

“Good,” Akil said.

“No, it isn’t. It is a ten-day trek,” she said.

“Another trick.” Pol groaned, but then he smiled.

“That is ten days for the whole tribe?”

“Of course,” Akil said. “If we show up late, we forfeit.”

Pol brightened. “I know a way. The whole tribe won’t be at the battle. The warriors and some of the pikers will travel to the battleground along with our healer while the tribe moves at its own pace,” Pol said. “Won’t that work?”

“But what about food and…”

“Let’s find a way to make that strategy work,” Pol said. “If our opponents don’t expect us to show up, then we will have another advantage.”

Akil nodded. “I’ll get the tribe organized.”

~

Pol looked out at the battleground. They wouldn’t have the benefit of using the horses, but there were now armored pikers fighting from the ground. Warriors had practiced using their shields along with the pikes, and the confidence level had grown as they made it to their destination before the competition had.

The plot of land was completely flat and larger than any other field they had fought on so far. Pol sat on Demeron trying to visualize the possibilities of the battle. He reached back into his memories and pulled snippets of information out of his mind. His efforts were always blocked when the memory might be associated with people or places.

They had a few options, all of which would require new formations. Since the purpose of the battle wasn’t to seize ground, Pol didn’t have to worry about letting them pass.

Instead of putting the pikers in the back, Pol thought they could function as flanking infantry. As the enemy warriors converged on the mounted warriors, as they had in all the other conflicts the warriors could remember, the pikers would close in from either side, carrying their shields and weapons.

Pol reminded the pikers that after the initial charge, they were free to pick up the poles and harry the enemy warriors.

They didn’t camp at the assigned spot but found a suitable spot close to another spring an hour from where the tribe would set up. Pol wanted to surprise their foes by showing up at the precise time.

The Hawks arrived a bit ahead of the appointed hour and didn’t set up in formation. Pol made sure the poles were out of sight. They waited until ten warriors appeared at the battleground.

“Why are you here?” one of the warriors asked.

“To fight you, of course,” Akil said. “There are just seven of you. Very well. Let us start.”

The other warriors sped off the battlefield and out of sight.

Akil looked up at the sky, and it wasn’t until after the noon hour, the time designated in the rules as the battle’s end, that the other tribe showed up.

“We won,” Akil said.

Pol spied the other healer. “Put it in your book that the Hawks were assembled to fight for two hours. We held the field that you abandoned.” He nodded to Gula who activated the victory rune.

“That’s not fair,” an older warrior said. He must have been their leader.

“Why not?” Akil said. “The battle was arranged. We arrived. You had seven warriors arrive, and they left the battleground.”

“Prove it,” the leader said.

Akil looked perturbed. “Do you want to lose lives over this?”

The other warrior narrowed his eyes. “Do you?”

“The rules don’t permit non-assigned battles,” Gula said.

Pol hadn’t seen that when he read the rules, but he kept quiet.

“Just wait for the next time,” the leader said. They turned around and left.

The Hawks cheered. Pol wondered what would happen next. Nothing good. They had an easy fourth victory only because they had split the tribe.

Gula checked her book when she got back to camp. “We fight at that same battleground tomorrow.”

“With the same opponent?”

“Who else?” Gula said.

The rest of the tribe wouldn’t arrive before the fight. Pol had them all pool their food so that no one would go hungry.

“We might as well get some practice in,” Pol said.

Akil sent out a few pikers as scouts to make sure the enemy wasn’t spying on them. Pol handled the practice with the warriors attacking as more of a group. He didn’t want to plunge into the enemy line like the last time, leaving him exposed.

After six passes, Pol stopped the practice. “That’s enough. We will rest for tomorrow,” he said.

Demeron pushed Pol from behind.

“Do you want to ride?”

Demeron nodded.

Pol mounted and decided to visit the enemy tribe. Watchers stopped him before he entered their camp.

“Who are you?” said the man Pol thought was the leader.

“My name is Pol, and I am helping my friend Akil with the tribe.”

“You aren’t Zasosian.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ve come with the permission of Lord Boria. I’m not a mercenary if that’s what you mean.”

“You aren’t welcome here until after the battle.”

Pol smiled. “I wanted to ask you something, and then I’ll head back to our camp. I was wondering if you somehow got the message that we were going to be late. The tribe was ten days’ travel away when it received the battle notification for a battle that was scheduled in eight days. We had to split the tribe to make it here on time.”

“Oh, that’s how you did it. We figured on an easy victory. Forfeits happen.” The man shrugged his shoulders. “So we will fight tomorrow.”

“Have you ever had such a small time between battles?”

The leader shook his head. “Never. We had just won two in a row and thought we’d get to three without bloodshed.”

“If you want to minimize that, surrender early. Just a friendly suggestion. Good luck tomorrow. We did bring our healer, so everyone who survives will be seen to.” Pol waved to the man and headed back to the temporary camp.

He found Akil grooming his horse. Demeron probably needed it. too, so Pol pulled off his horse’s saddle and began to brush.

“You left for a bit,” Akil said.

“I had a little talk with the other tribe. They knew we wouldn’t show up and thought it would be an easy third victory for them.”

“Do you think my father had anything to do with it?”

Pol nodded. “Doesn’t he have to agree to the matches?”

“Not necessarily,” Akil said. “But someone is interested in bending the rules.”

“It’s close to broken from my perspective,” Pol said. “Are we ready for tomorrow?”

Akil nodded. “In some ways, I think not having the rest of the tribe around is putting an edge on the warriors. They don’t want to face the tribe having lost the string.”

“We will see. Anything can happen.”

Pol rubbed Demeron down again, nervous about the fight. Gula walked up to him. “Do you think we can win?”

“I think we stand a good chance. Mentally, the aborted fight disappointed the other tribe, so that might be to our advantage. I think they are busy making shields. What will you do if we win five in a row?”

“Seriously? Talk to me after we win.” Gula walked away. Pol wondered what she meant by that.

~

The Hawks arrived first at the battleground. They purposely didn’t form up or show the poles until the opponents showed up. Just at the right time, the competition meandered onto the other side of the battleground. They looked over at the Hawks. A few of their warriors yelled out some taunts.

They formed up into their line and stopped while the non-combatants ran out, distributing shields to the warriors. Pol was not impressed by the enemy shields. He spoke quietly to Demeron. “Feel free to smash the shields at the right time,” Pol said.

Demeron whinnied, his version of laughter.

The Hawks began to form up. Pol instructed the pikers to distribute the poles. The pikers formed up on either side of the warrior line. Pol looked forward and could see the unease in their opponents.

Pol whistled, and the Hawks began to slowly advance, first a walk, then a trot before they ended with a gallop, charging into the enemy line. Pol’s mind burned with the potential flow of the battle. All the elements seemed to click into place and then shifted with the tide of battle.

Poles cracked, men shouted, and horses complained as the lines clashed. The Hawks pushed their opponents back. The pikers ran towards the edges. Most of them took up their positions, and two on each side ran to the center to pick up the dropped poles as the Hawks pulled out their swords. Only Pol and Akil worked into a rhythm of block with the shield and strike with their sword. Pol could tell where every man, Hawk and enemy, stood on the battlefield.

The opponents began just to block the enemy’s blows. Without the practice the Hawks had, their line began to retreat. Demeron reared up and smashed the shield of their opponent. That hand went up as other horses began to rear. The battle stopped. Demeron pranced around, looking distressed. Pol didn’t understand the horse’s behavior. He should have calmed down with the battle ending.

Their competitors dismounted and looked disoriented.  The Hawks raised their hands in triumph… until the first arrow took down one of the Hawks.

Pol called for a retreat as an arrow scratched a deep line across his shoulder plate. A Hawk warrior fell to the ground with an arrow in his thigh.

“Run to the grasses!” Pol cried to the pikers. “Take out the archers!”

The rules were truly broken. Pol led the Hawks forward and into the enemy ranks. Most were still on the ground as the Hawks plowed into the enemy. None were given the chance to stand. Few of the enemy were left standing when archers began to enter the battleground. Akil led the rest of the warriors and cut them down.

Suddenly the battleground was silent. This wasn’t a matter of rules being broken; it was an absolute betrayal.

The enemy’s women flooded into the field, seeing to their wounded.

Akil ordered his warriors and pikers to assemble the dead and injured on the other side of the battleground, while Gula supervised treating the Hawks.

Pol rode Demeron through the enemy’s devastation. There were less dead than he expected, but many of the men wouldn’t be fighting anytime soon. He spotted the leader, sitting up. The bandage on his shoulder was still seeping blood.

“I suppose the archers weren’t your idea,” Pol said.

The man shook his head. “I agreed to dishonor. The rune book’s instructions…”

“He dishonored you, and you paid the price.”

“If you didn’t have those men on foot, we would have won.”

Pol sneered. “You call that winning? You are no better than slaves dying for your masters,” Pol said. “It is disgusting. Make sure your healer or whoever manages your book reports a loss.”

“Who are you?” the leader said. “I’ve never seen a more fierce warrior than you.”

“I wish I knew,” Pol said as he trotted back to the Hawk side of the field.

“Have you lit up the runes?” Pol asked Gula. Akil joined them

“Of course. We have won five in a row. I would have never guessed it! I admit that I didn’t believe one person could transform our tribe.”

“I give credit to the Academy.”

“No. It’s not the Academy. I’ve never seen a leader among our people like you. You were amazing. I’m proud of the Hawks, especially our pikers running into the grass to disrupt the archers. Not one of us have seen such treachery,” Akil said.

“You’ve never heard of such treachery because such things are done in secret. I can’t imagine that the Clan Lords haven’t done this before.” He looked at Gula. “Are there runes that can transmit orders?”

“I have a few.” She looked guilty.

“Our opponents sure did. They knew we weren’t coming on time, and then their leader told me that he agreed to act dishonorably. What do the tribes do in a case like this?”

“I suspect the Clan Lords will order the affected tribes off the plains,” one of the older warriors said. “I always wondered why that happened from time to time. We will probably all be recalled to Axtopol. We won our five victories fairly, mostly fairly, but I don’t want to leave.”

Akil looked sick. “I never was aware of the duplicity. I thought I was cynical and knew it all, but now, I just can’t believe my father to be a party to this.”

“I think you’ll get the opportunity to ask him. We’ve just been given orders to travel to Axtopol,” Gula said.

Pol looked across the field. Their enemy was still dragging a few archers out from the grass. He expected that they would be recalled, as well.

They had to wait another day before the tribe arrived with the wagons. The other tribe had already left, leaving the bodies of eighteen warriors and archers behind.

Most of the others treated their trip to Axtopol as good news. Pol made no attempts to dampen their celebration, but his excursion into the plains of Zasos was over. He would return to the capital with a hollow victory.

Along the way, Pol suspected another battle. Akil couldn’t believe that something like that could happen, but Pol sensed betrayal after betrayal.

Ten days on the road, their scouts discovered the wagons and bodies of the losing tribe. Pol dismounted and looked over the ground.

“How many Hawk horses are shod?”

“Five or six,” Akil said.

Pol bent down to look at the ground. “I thought so. Look at all the shod hoof prints. These tribe members were cut down by a military force.” Pol looked out into the distance. “The road to Axtopol leads to our deaths.”

“We can’t stay out on the plains,” a warrior said.

“You don’t have to.” Gula looked down at the carnage. “We can head north, skirt the mountains, and live in the East.”

“But it is unlivable,” Akil said.

Pol folded his arms. “So you’ve been told. I heard there are people on the other side of the mountains that scratch out a living. Maybe they don’t have to scratch as hard as I heard.”

“Where else will we go?” the warrior said.

After talking about the situation, all agreed to go to the East. If it turned out uninhabitable, they could always sneak into Axtopol. After seeing the arrows shot into a battle and the remains of dead opponents killed on the trail, no one wanted to chance heading to the capital, so they traveled north.

~~~

Chapter Twenty-Nine

~

P ol gazed out towards the northern shore of Daera far below from where he stood. He had come to Daera from the sea. He would leave it sooner than later the same way. He spotted a boat in the distance heading towards shore.

“Is there a way down to the water?” Pol asked Akil.

His friend shrugged. “Does anyone know if there is a pathway to the sea?”

No one knew. Pol kept looking at a ship, bobbing on the ocean far, far ahead.

Gula walked up to him. “Be patient,” she said. “I think we may both be surprised. We have crossed along the tops of the mountains. The book no longer works.”

Pol gazed at the mountains off to his right. They began to rise only paces from the edge of the escarpment, but as the geography book told, the height was a few hundred paces from the ocean below.

They could hear the sea at night, but now that they had left the plains, the grasses had abandoned them. They came across few streams that wound their way down to fall to the ocean below, but there was little game, and the vegetables that sustained them didn’t grow on the thin strip of land that wound around the roots of the mountains.

The flatter land began to widen. They encountered trees again, and then woods until they entered into a forest. The warriors sought game and came back with deer and boar.

The tribe celebrated making it to the North. Women walked into the woods, and found berries, and even better, a large clearing.

Pol walked the perimeter of their stopping point. He looked for signs of men, but all he found were animal tracks.

“Does this look like an arid wasteland?” Pol asked Akil, tearing into a charred piece of venison.

“What other lies have been told?”

“Lots,” Pol said. “There must be others out here.” He looked around. It all looked more like Kiria than Zasos.

Gula sat by his side. It’s nearly time to head south,” she said. “You might find who you seek.”

“A magician?”

“Be patient,” she said. “I would never have had the courage to come here. Thank you for leading us.” She patted his knee and left the two friends, eating with fat dripping down their mouths.

Their pace slowed up as they stocked up on food and still kept on the lookout for enemy.

A large, lazy river stopped them. It flowed in the direction of the sea, and Pol could imagine the falls plunging hundreds of feet to the ocean. The tribe decided to make rafts to transport them across the water. They traveled south and found a suitable place with banks that dipped to the river’s surface.

They had no trouble finding trees to cut and roughly tanned the new animal hides into bindings. Vines were found and twisted into thick ropes that would be used to keep the rafts together.

The tribe began to look towards Pol for guidance, and Akil seemed to accept Pol’s rise to leader. He was able to come up with ideas about the rafts, including making railings of a sort so gear wouldn’t slip and fall into the river.

They didn’t have to worry about the time, so it took over three weeks to make the rafts. Pol had the warriors find rocks and boulders to pile from the shore to make a calm area to load the rafts. The first raft was small and maneuverable. All it carried was the rope and four men to pole it across the river.

Pol remembered about paddles to cross the river in the middle where the poles might not touch the bottom. He watched as Akil and three others poled their way across the river.  The horses objected to the ride until Demeron calmed them down.

Soon the tribe looked back the way they had come. The tribe stacked the rafts on the shore. They left the rope in place, dipping into the water in the center. Pol doubted it would be there if they ever returned.

They headed south, paralleling the river until they came to a road. Pol dismounted and looked at hoof and wagon prints. Someone had cleared the road.

He looked at the rest of the tribe. “Which way?”

“Does it matter?” one of the warriors said. “When we come across another person, they will tell us if we are headed in the right direction or the wrong one.”

“Then let’s head inland,” Pol said. He turned Demeron and headed to his right. The going was much quicker on the road, and soon they came to a clearing a few hours from twilight.

“Looks like people have stayed here before,” Akil said.

Pol examined the footprints and hoof prints. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what would make tracks like that. “Half a dozen riders,” Pol said. “No wagon. They passed here not too long ago.”

A shiver ran up and down Pol’s spine. What if they were in hostile lands? Had he lead them into worse danger?  He settled down. At least this was not certain death, he thought.

“We will be armed and aware,” he said as the wagons filled up the clearing. “We’ll have to set up a watch.”

Akil asked four warriors to start. Pol said they should replace the watch twice at night.

Pol sneaked out of his tent in the dim light of dawn and picked his way, barefooted, to relieve himself.  A man stepped out of nowhere and stood in front of him. Pol jerked back and stepped on a twig. He hopped around silently until he realized he was exposed. He came to his senses and drew his throwing knife.

“All finished? I quite enjoyed your dance.” The man looked to be just on the other side of middle age to Pol. He dressed in simple clothing, but not skins, and he definitely didn’t wear an animal skull for a cap. He was quite bald, instead.

“Who are you?” Pol said.

“You are on my land; I think it is you who should do the explaining.”

Pol sat on a rock and rubbed his foot. He was sure it was bleeding and was nearly disappointed that it wasn’t.

“We escaped from the plains,” Pol said. “They mean you no harm, but perhaps if you could find some land for them to live on, they would appreciate it.”

“What about you?” the man said.

“I need to find a magician who can help me recover my memories.”

The man sat next to Pol. “Let me check.”

Pol pulled back. The man wasn’t armed, but something had happened to the sentries. “I, I…”

“Don’t be afraid. I don’t bite.” He pushed Pol’s protesting hand away and put his on Pol’s head.

“A ward?” He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re a magician! Powerful enough to see what’s wrong?”

The man chuckled. “Of course. Who do you think put the rest of your camp to sleep? I have wards in the forest. I knew you crossed the river. You are a determined lot.”

Pol bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to tell the wizard their plight, at least not yet.

“You have power; I can see that. Perhaps a great deal. What does the ward do?”

“I can’t remember places or people. I can reach most memories.”

The man nodded his head. “That’s because most of our memories are connected to our interactions with people. How long have you had this condition?”

“Nearly four years,” Pol said.

“Twenty or twenty-one, I would imagine. You’ve grown into a fine specimen of a young man. Do you lead this group? It seems that you do.”

Pol didn’t quite know what to say.

“A reluctant leader? You’re Shinkyan aren’t you?”

“I’m from Deftnis in Eastril. That’s what my horse said.”

Demeron walked over.

“You have some magical resistance,” the man said to Demeron.

“This is a magician.” Pol said, standing up.

“What?” the magician stood up. “You talk?” He stared at Demeron.

The two of them had a conversation that amazed Pol.

“You are from Deftnis and are more than you seem, at least to some. Put your shoes on and come with me.”

The magician waved his arm over the camp. “They will stir soon enough.” He stepped onto the road as Pol grabbed his weapons and hopped around while he got his shoes on his feet.

The magician took a stick and made an arrow in the dirt pointing south.

“We will talk a bit before they follow. How did you get to Daera?”

Pol told the magician his story from waking up on the beach to waking up at the campsite. The end of their conversation was interesting with the magician asking some questions about the five battles and Pol’s reaction to the Clan Lords. By the time Pol finished, they walked into a village just as the sun broke into the sky. The inhabitants greeted them and stared at Pol as they passed. That was a positive sign for Pol.

The magician stood in front of a curious house. A crude shack was attached to the front.

“Wait here.”

The magician walked to a cottage and knocked on the door. He had a word with the woman who answered before he returned.

“She’ll get things prepared for your friends while we do more talking.”

Pol didn’t know what else to say. He certainly didn’t want to antagonize his host. If he could put the sentries to sleep, the magician would be capable of much more.

The magician beckoned Pol through the door of the little house after seemingly saying something to Demeron, who had trailed after them the entire distance. The room was small and the furniture crude, but then he walked into the dwelling beyond. Everything was clean and new-looking.

“There you are, Traxus. Did you find your interlopers?”

“Here is one of them. He is the most interesting of the lot.”

Pol bowed to the woman. She had graying hair and looked to be trim and attractive for her age, which seemed to be a match for the magician.

“My wife, Sura. I am Traxus.”

He bowed again to Sura. “I am Pol.”

Traxus looked at his wife. “Pol from Deftnis, my dear.”

“Really?” She looked surprised.

The magician nodded. “Pol, I want you to lie on this couch. I will investigate what it will take to remove this ward.”

Pol lay down and folded his hands across his chest. “Will this hurt?”

“If it does, I will have made a mistake.” Traxus put his hand on Pol’s forehead. “I see a green patch. It has brown spikes on top, and if I’m not mistaken, there are tendrils that extend down into your brain. This is interesting. Let’s remove a slice.”

Pol didn’t feel a thing, but the magician kept on removing slices.

“It’s time to put you to sleep. Don’t worry about your friends. I have taken care of them. They won’t be harmed; in fact, I am very, very pleased to see them.”

Pol’s eyes grew heavy.

~

When Pol blinked his eyes open, his mind exploded with thought. He was in a different room in the house. He rose to his feet but became so dizzy that he had to lie back down.

“I am Pol Cissert,” he said to himself. His mind was still in the process of integrating his new memories with his old. “Shira!”

Pol rubbed his eyes, and his mind twirled and shifted. He looked at his hands. He realized that they weren’t brown any longer. He looked around for a mirror but didn’t find one. The house used waxed paper to bring in the light, but if his hands were lighter, his hair was no longer black.

He concentrated and located three people in the house. His magic was unimpaired. Thoughts raced along with questions. He had been removed from his friends for four years. He looked at his hands again and flexed them. He should be over twenty-one by now, but Pol didn’t know exactly how the Eastrilian calendar coincided with the Daeran.

Trying to stand up again, he was a bit more successful. Someone had put fresh clothes on him. He staggered to the doorway and made his wobbly way over to a chair.

“You are awake,” Sura said. “Traxus worked on you for three days. You’ve been under for another. My husband wanted your mind to rest for a bit.”

Pol grinned at the sight of a polished metal mirror. He looked at his reflection. “I’m me again!”

He called out to Demeron in his mind.

“Demeron, I’m back.”

I am glad, Pol. It is good to hear your voice in my mind again. I am glad we traveled to the North. It is mostly good news.

“Is the tribe settling in?”

Have no worries. They are waiting for you to wake up.

“I’m back to my old self, with white hair and pale skin.”

A few of them have seen you. They know what to expect.

Sura put a large bowl of stew on the table in front of Pol.

“I’ve been keeping that hot all morning. Traxus released the sleeping spell, but you kept snoring away,” she laughed. “I’ll go get him. You need to eat.”

Pol looked down at the stew. He didn’t know if he could eat, but he took a tentative spoonful and found his stomach yearned for more. It didn’t take him long to finish. He gulped down a glass of cold milk that Sura put in front of him.

“That’s enough food for you,” Traxus said as he entered from a back door. “How do you feel?”

“I’m not sure. It is unsettling to have a new set of memories. They are old memories. I have so much to think about. I left my friends unconscious behind.”

“Fadden and Pakkingail?”

Pol sat up. “How did you know?”

“We have just begun to trade with Deftnis Monastery. They found our little fishing outpost. I have even been to visit. The Abbot told me your story.”

“Abbot Pleagor.”

Traxus nodded. “That’s the man. You are Pol Cissert Pastelle. An imperial prince and a big problem for the Shinkyans.”

Pol nodded. “They are all right?”

“Demeron told me his side of the story. You were excited to see that your kidnapped friends were safe, and the Scorpions bludgeoned you from behind. Not a nice thing to do.”

“I should have worn a physical shield,” Pol said. “Things were happening so fast; I thought the Scorpions were my allies.”

Traxus thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t count them out yet. I think they had good intentions, but they were rushed into their actions, just as you hastily rushed to your friends’ aid. Demeron might have more details, but they put that interesting ward on your brain and shipped you to Daera. I don’t think they intended to leave you on your own since they took care of Demeron, and a Shinkyan accompanied you before the ship became distressed. Demeron swam to shore with you tied to his back. I think you know the rest better than I.”

“Demeron has saved me more than once.”

“You told me a little of that a few mornings ago.”

“Four, I’m told.”

Traxus nodded. “I found another artifact in your brain. It was a bit harder to figure out how to remove.”

“The alien intelligence,” Pol said. “Is it gone?” Pol searched his brain and couldn’t find a trace of the Demron essence. “You unlocked it.”

“What did I unlock?”

“The knowledge of the Demrons, the alien race that ruled Phairoon from north Volia.”

Traxus laughed. “They never ruled mankind, although they think they did. We killed them.”

“We?”

“Zasosians. They used mind-control on sailors and captured humans from time to time for food. One of our magicians freed a sailor’s mind. When we discovered what kind of vermin they were, volunteers sacrificed themselves, taking a poison that made them toxic to the aliens. They were all destroyed. We didn’t know for sure if we had succeeded until the Shinkyans tried to settle Kiria.”

“So it wasn’t a disease. That’s what they thought it was. They sought out a cure.”

“In vain,” Traxus said. “I’m afraid that was our best hour, so long ago. Over time, Zasos has devolved into a gambling den. Sometimes I wonder if being eaten by Demrons would have been a kinder fate.”

The gentle demeanor seemed to fade from Traxus.

“Is that why you are here?” Pol asked.

The magician nodded. “The Clan Lord rune books do not penetrate the mountains—too much iron and other minerals that disrupt the pattern.”

Pol sighed. “The pattern. I was trying to use the pattern, especially since I arrived at the Dragon Academy and didn’t even know it.”

“Without the ability to communicate with tribesman, the East holds no value to the Clan Lords. Originally, the inhabitants in the East were herded north along the river and across the little strip of land to the north, to become the first tribes.” Traxus shook his head. “I tried to do something to help the nomads, but I was one among thousands and finally had to flee.”

“Do you use the rune books on this side of the mountains?”

Traxus smiled, now that he was distracted from the painful past. “Of course! The runes are still a secret on Zasos, but I’m willing to change that.”

Pol grinned. “If we used such a thing in the Empire, we’d save a lot of birds.”

“You probably would. The monks taught me how to instruct birds to fly across the sea. When the time is right, we will notify them that you are safe.”

Pol took a deep breath. “Do they know what happened to Shira?”

“The Shinkyan princess? She is a princess no longer and serves Queen Isa of South Salvan.”

“My brother was going to invade Queen Isa’s country.”

“He still may. The Empire is not in the best of shape. Emperor Hazett is beset by revolution all around him. It is a fluid situation, and no one has an upper hand.”

“But the Imperial Army—”

“only prepares for a multi-fronted war.” Traxus waved away Pol’s protest. “I know no more than that. The question is, what will you do?”

“Shira is safe?”

Traxus shrugged. “The last report I had is four months old. Fadden Loria and others have gone to South Salvan to assist the Queen.”

“And Shinkya?”

“It is no better off than the Empire. There are conflicts there as well between the factions, the Queen, and the bureaucracy, so say the monks of Deftnis.”

Pol put his head down. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you going to save the world?”

“I wish.”

“You can do your part, but I have a proposition.”

Pol looked at Traxus. He was torn about what to do. He wanted to run to Shira, attack Shinkya for what they had done to him, fight Grostin, and save the Empire, but he couldn’t do it all at once.

“A proposition? I think I need another drink of milk.”

“Certainly, do you want it chilled?”

Pol smiled, just a little. “I can do that now.”

Sura put a glass of milk in front of him. “I’d like to see you do it.”

Pol didn’t need any practice to find the proper pattern and chill the milk, but not freeze it. He genuinely smiled this time and drained half the cup.

“Good. You are more powerful than I am but unschooled. I want you to spend a few months in Zasos before you sail for Deftnis. They will know you have resurfaced as yourself, and your friends in South Salvan will be told.”

“Do you want me to help you throw down the Clan Lords?” Pol asked.

“I do. I can’t do it by myself, and I failed the last time I tried.”

“Will you teach me the rune magic?”

“I can. You’ll find it easier than you think, but I have other perspectives to offer.”

Perhaps Traxus would be the experienced magician that Pol needed to work with him to learn more spells and techniques as Abbot Pleagor urged when he left Deftnis to visit Yastan with Shira.

“My wounds are freshest at the hands of the Clan Lords. We can see what we can do. It won’t be easy to change a culture overnight,” Pol said.

Pol took a deep breath and grinned. He had been operating as if he were blindfolded, and in a sense, he was. The patterns that he sought in Kiria and Zasos took shape in his mind. He wasn’t wrong about what the Clan Lords were doing.

“Be prepared to split the countries into East and West Zasos,” Pol said. “The mountains act as an effective barrier. If we destabilize Axtopol, it will take some time for a coherent government to settle in.”

Traxus pulled on his lip. “Not what I expected to hear, but we will have the time to debate approaches?” He put out his hand.

Pol nodded and took it. First, he would help Akil and Traxus, then on to South Salvan via Deftnis. The Emperor and Shinkya could wait.

~~~

Chapter Thirty

~

“I thank you, Gula, for bringing Pol to us,” Traxus said, holding Sura’s hand.

The healer colored and bowed her head. “I’m still getting used to his new appearance.” She looked at Pol and back to Traxus. “I thank you for allowing us to stay with you. I have relished meeting my sister again after all these years.”

“Sister?” Pol said.

“That is how I knew of this. My sister and I are twins. We both are magicians. I had returned to the plains, and she had just started work for the Placement Bureau. There was an ugly incident.” Gula looked at Traxus, who nodded. “Traxus occasionally takes in displaced magicians. My sister was displaced, and before she fled to the East, she wrote a letter saying she was doing so.”

“You knew all about this place?” Akil asked.

“It’s not the best-kept secret. The Clan Lords know about us, but they can’t be bothered as long as we stay on our side of the mountains,” Traxus said. “Their focus remains towards the west and the Great Game.”

Gula patted Pol’s hand. “All I knew is that my sister lived in the East with Traxus.”

Sura began serving dinner, and Pol asked questions about life in the East.

“Our life has recently become better once we began to trade with Deftnis. They have four ships and have begun runs to our new port,” Traxus said. Sura nodded in agreement with her husband. “We can rely on their discretion, which wouldn’t be the case if we used a more commercial port.  It might not be the closest place to trade, but it is the friendliest.”

Pol sat back, amazed that he had found his memory and a way back to Deftnis. “What do you offer in trade?”

“Lumber. We have some hardwoods that are unique to Zasos. There are herbs and easily obtained minerals. The East has been a neglected land for many centuries.”

“We also have some crafts that we make. Deftnis doesn’t want them, but there are ex-monks who are traders. They will help us find markets.”

“I know an ex-monk named Kell Digbee who is one of them,” Pol said. He smiled as he remembered his friends.

“What could you possibly want from Imperials?” Akil said.

“First of all, an ally. Did you know that your friend here is an Imperial Prince? He is second-in-line to the throne of the Baccusol Empire.”

“Pol? A tanner’s apprentice?” Akil looked at Pol. “You are definitely not Shinkyan.”

“He is the son of the King of the Imperial country of North Salvan. His parents were killed, and before he reached his maturity, which is twenty in the Empire, not eighteen like Zasos, he was adopted into the Emperor’s family. I don’t know much more than that.”

“You know quite a bit about me for being secluded on another continent,” Pol said.

“Your story came up since you were on Daera. The monks thought it possible that if you regained your memories, you would head north.”

“They were right, but I knew I had to go to Deftnis because of Demeron.”

“Yes, a Shinkyan stallion. I didn’t think we’d ever see one here. The monks showed me the herd. They were very explicit in explaining that the Monastery did not own the horses.”

Pol laughed. “I only own Demeron on paper. We are good friends.”

“The horse does magic,” Traxus said.

“I’ve seen it,” Gula said, “in the way Demeron directed our other horses when we fought on the plains.”

“Akil and a few of the other warriors described your battles. I’ll bet that upset the Placement Bureau.”

“It upset someone,” Akil said.

“Do you have other villages?”

“A few. We haven’t had a full tribe join us before, but plains people have trickled in, along with a select group from the capital. We have our port, where we still get fish, and we have two logging villages, and further east is where we are clearing away forest land to grow crops.”

Sura laughed. “Traxus may seem energetic, but he isn’t a farmer or a land clearer.”

“Where do you assign the warriors?” Akil asked.

Traxus gave Akil a warm smile. “We don’t assign anyone. They get to choose. If one likes the sea, there is fishing. If you like to work hard, there is logging. If you miss the plains, there are the farms. If you want to get away from everything, we have whole forests where you can get lost. We just don’t have the plains; that’s in the West.”

“And that is now closed off to us,” Akil said.

His friend’s comment surprised Pol. He didn’t think Akil was particularly thrilled riding through the grasslands. “I didn’t know you liked the nomadic life.” Pol said.

“What I don’t like is being made a dupe.”

That made Pol pause. He didn’t know if he was a dupe or not. His stupidity at getting caught without defenses in Shinkya still plagued him. As he thought about his time on Daera, it was filled with new experiences that he wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. Even before Traxus removed the Shinkyan ward, Pol was a much different person than the youth who washed up on a Kirian beach.

In a literal and figurative sense, he felt more grown up. He had made it to Traxus on his own, without any help. Pol changed the thought. He had had many helpers, but only Demeron was at his side the whole time.

“When are you going to leave?” Akil said.

Pol looked at Traxus, who was finishing up his meal. Pol looked down and did the same.

“When I’m finished in Zasos.” He looked at Traxus. “Perhaps we need to raise our profile,” Pol said.

“A dangerous thing to do.”

Suddenly the conversation was just between Traxus and Pol.

“The Clan Lords can send troops to wipe you out at any time. Do you want to live with that until they do?” Pol stared at his host, his face impassive.

“No,” Traxus said. He gave Pol half a smile and challenged Pol to continue with his eyes.

“Perhaps we can plan something that will get things rolling.”

“What things?” Akil said.

Traxus’s eyes never left Pol’s. “It would be safer for you to return to Deftnis.”

“Safer for whom?” Pol said. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life dreaming of a unified Zasos or even a split Zasos?”

Traxus narrowed his eyes. “Do you think you are up to it?”

“As much as anyone,” Pol said. “Why don’t we come up with a plan to tweak the pattern of Zasos?”

“Spoken like a true magician.” Traxus grinned.

“Which is part of who I am.” Pol finally smiled. “I’m Pol Cissert Pastelle, and I am here to help.”

“Spoken like a true leader.”

~

Akil took Pol aside. “I can’t fight against my father.”

Pol understood his friend, but Akil needed a bit of perspective. “I’m not asking you to kill him, although he had no trouble putting you in peril. Perhaps your father’s troops would have attacked us all. You aren’t good to anyone if you’re dead.”

“Still…”

“You can go find a little plot in the woods and build a little cabin like Traxus did. He still has it up to remind him when he was one of the few who lived on this side of the mountains. No one will think the worse for that. I think you are a smart, capable person. If you want to do trading, why don’t you talk to Traxus about doing just that at Deftnis? You won’t get kicked out of Port Mancus or Deftnis Isle for being a merchant.”

“I could do that? I’ll have to think about it. Perhaps there is something to fight for.”

“More than risking your life for the ability to scavenge metal from your defeated foes,” Pol said.

~

Pol moved out to the little tent city given to the Hawk tribe. Traxus had lent him a larger tent and some collapsible furniture. He sat at a table making notes on paper made in the Empire. He could see how outside trade helped Traxus’ group. They weren’t rebels, yet.

With his mind free to call on his memories and enhance his vision of patterns, he began to document the current Zasos pattern so they could test what consequences any tweaks to the current state of affairs might have.

Akil sat across from him. “Did you learn anything at the Academy that you didn’t know?”

“Swordplay,” Pol said. “I relied on my magic to help me when I fought. I couldn’t call on anything other than myself when I fought all the Dragons. With Anaori’s help, my technical skills improved. It’s the same with archery. I can make an arrow fly any way I want. It kept me from learning how to shoot really. People can create barriers to learning, even though they think they know everything. I was getting that way before I floated up on the beach.”

“So you think being without your memories was a good thing?”

Pol nodded. “It made me stronger, mentally. I don’t feel so much like a boy.”

“You graduated?” Akil said.

Pol laughed, “Not from the Academy!”

They talked about approaches to take in Axtopol. Pol needed to know more about the Placement Bureau, so they called for Gula and her sister to show up.

“Who runs Zasos, the Placement Bureau or the Clan Lords?” Pol asked.

Gula’s sister blushed. “I wasn’t there long.”

“But you’d be there long enough to know their attitude toward the Clan Lords. Did they think of them with respect?”

She shook her head. “The supervisors always joked about the side bets the lords made.”

“What are side bets?” Pol asked. Perhaps he should have accompanied Kell and Paki on their gambling evenings.

“It happens when people bet on something else other than main bet. The main bet would be whose tribe will win a battle. A side bet would be how many lives were lost, things like that,” Gula’s sister said. “It happened all the time among the Clan Lords.”

“Like if we would have won five straight victories?” Pol asked.

“Exactly.”

“Did the Bureau care about the results of the tribal conflicts?”

“Not particularly. They make their money on a charge to both parties to manage the process. That includes formal documented communication from the Bureau to the tribes. The documentation is important in determining wins and losses.”

Akil spoke up. “Who decides when to schedule battles? We had to fight our last foes two days after the first.”

The woman frowned. “There is an unwritten rule about scheduling two matches in a row with the same tribe. Someone would have been paid off  for that to happen.”

“But that is what happened,” Akil said. “Our opponents forfeited, and we had to fight them two mornings later.”

She shook her head. “A lot of money had to change hands for that to happen.”

“But it does happen?” Pol asked.

“It does,” she said, “and since the Bureau schedules the fights, they must have accepted bribes.”

Traxus stuck his head in the tent. “Finding out anything interesting?”

Pol showed him the last available seat in his tent. “Everything in the Great Game is corruptible. Secret codes to the tribes, bribed Placement Bureau officials, rule flaunting, side bets,” Pol said, nodding to Gula’s sister. “If we want to disrupt Axtopol’s nobles, we shut down the games.”

“People will be thrown out of work,” Traxus said.

“A fine consideration under other circumstances, if the tribes weren’t losing members all the time. Everyone just accepts the current state of affairs.”

“People have been fine with it for centuries,” Traxus said.

“Because they didn’t know an alternative.” Pol looked down at his notes. “I’m not naive enough to think everything is going to change if we shut down the gambling, but the stakes will change if we do.”

“A lot of people would starve,” Gula’s sister said.

“How?”

“The games. They make the citizens produce food, clothing, cloth, all kinds of things. If it weren't for the games, there wouldn’t be money to buy such things.”

“Really?” Gula said.

“Everyone needs food, clothing, and shelter. If those things are being produced now, then why would people stop? What will have to change is that prices may change because the Clan Lords won’t be doing as much buying.” Akil looked at Pol.

Pol nodded in response. “The tribes can live on their own on the plains, but if the metal and clothing supply deliveries stopped, could they find things to sell to Axtopol to replace those items?”

“Sure,” Traxus said. “But you have to make it through the disruption, or your revolution will fail. Sura and I have often talked about creating a time of chaos in Axtopol. That has always stopped me.”

Pol leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling. “The part of the pattern I don’t have is what the people in the capital need. If we could get a few boatloads of those items from Deftnis, we could smooth out the transition.”

Traxus seemed to understand Pol’s point. “Let’s bring in the senior warriors and tribal women and see what they would need if Axtopol didn’t make them fight.”

The process reminded Pol of when he sat with the Prelate of Fistyra and talked about maintaining control of their country.  Create a pattern and then determine what various tweaks might be undertaken to make the situation better. In this case, it was what to do if the Clan Lords were removed and the Placement Bureau put out of business.

In his mind, there were two options for Traxus: do nothing and wait for the inevitable invasion from the West, but that might not take place in years, or go for it all and dismantle the Great Game that had kept Zasos from progressing as a country for centuries.

The decision wasn’t up to Pol. He’d make it to Deftnis either way. Helping them would put him in peril, but Pol would take more precautions this time. He shook his head at his massive mistake in trusting the Scorpions for that one quick moment.

His discussions with the tribe convinced him even more that the tribes were self-sufficient. Without the interference from the Lords, trade could take place on the plains. He was convinced that traders would soon set up stores.  He didn’t tell them, but with more freedom, villages and towns would sprout up, changing the vast land as the tribes grew. That was a challenge for future Zasosians, but in the short term, tribal lives would vastly improve.

~

The day had moved into evening. Traxus walked into Pol’s tent.

“You are working too hard. No one else is, so why don’t you take a break and let me give you a magic lesson?” The magician sat down. “How much do you know?”

“I can do some tweaks. I have good control and substantial power. My Demron memories are still un-integrated until I use them. Something like I experienced during my years on Daera. When I did certain things, unrestricted memories came, like how to use a sword or battlefield strategies.”

“Show me a few things.”

Pol turned invisible and back.

“That’s a useful trick,” Traxus said after swallowing hard.

“I came up with that myself. I can see into a person’s body, and I can do the same thing with a lock and tweak it unlocked. I could lift you in the air and turn you around and softly let you down in your chair. I can also teleport objects.”

“Any magician can do a bit of teleporting. It’s a basic indication that a person can tweak, as you call it.”

Pol picked up the quill pen that he was using. “I can teleport this into your heart or your brain. Not move it fast, so it has to penetrate your body, but place it. I’ve used the technique sometimes when I fought others to survive.”

“An assassin could use that.”

Pol felt the blood rush to his face. “I am not an assassin, but I have had to kill.” He told Traxus about a few of his conflicts on Volia. “Some of my friends would have died.”

“I can see that. What do you know of wards?”

Pol snorted. “I learned quite a bit in Shinkya, but was unable to use my knowledge.”

“Our rune books are a type of wards. We used to use wards more than we do now. The Placement Bureau moved to forbid them.”

“Is that why you left Axtopol?”

“Partly. I never did like the Great Game. I developed quite a bit of power and spent time in Kiria and even a year in Shinkya learning magic some time ago. That was a very expensive education. I heard that a plains healer, recalled from the plains to heal lords in the capital, could look inside a person. I sought her out and found she had ended up working in the Placement Bureau. We taught each other quite a bit. Sura and I have been together for a long time.”

“She’s the healer?”

Traxus nodded. “She is less adept in some phases of magic, but she can heal better than just about anyone else. Sura keeps our settlement healthy.”

“You’ve got Gula to help, now.”

“Do you want to know how the books work?”

Pol smile. “I do. I can see a lot of applications for them in the Empire.”

“There are limitations, but the shape of the rune means nothing other than to identify sympathetic wards. When one rune is activated, the other is activated. It’s as simple as that. A lodestone rod eliminates the glow on one side. When that happens, the other ceases to glow as well.”

“They found lodestone in the mountains?”

Traxus nodded. “That’s why the connection doesn’t work between the West and the East. We’ve tested it. Runes work here in the East, but they don’t penetrate to the West. I knew when you passed the mountains in the north when one of my wards activated a rune map I have in my house.”

“Just like the Placement Bureau.”

“Just like it, except the ward in the woods doesn’t glow. It’s easy magic.”

“You should be able to enhance the concept. Rune dots in tightly-packed rows could even spell out words,” Pol said.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Traxus said. “The tribes use runes that mean different things, like the number of a location and the date of a battle.”

“I’ve seen Gula’s rune book. The Empire doesn’t have anything like that. If you want to know something from another country, it might take weeks unless you use a bird, and then your answer will still be days away.”

Pol’s mind blossomed with ideas. Depending on how far you could activate a rune, communications between Traxus’s port and Deftnis could take place. Coordinating armies could be so much more efficient. Pol would have known exactly when the Emperor’s troops would arrive at Borstall when King Astor invaded.

If the runes behaved like Pol thought they did, an activated rune could make a whistle blow or raise a flag. He had to stop thinking with Traxus in front of him.

“I’m sorry. There are so many applications. What level of magician is needed to make the runes?”

“A magician who is little more than a beginner can activate a rune. A person with no magic can deactivate it with a rod. Making the connections is tedious work, and that takes a magician with some power. Not as powerful as you or I, or even Sura. Gula could connect runes, for example.”

Pol smiled. “We can use runes to our benefit.”

“I always thought we could,” Traxus said. “Let’s talk of other tweaks.”

The two talked late into the night. Pol absorbed everything that Traxus had to say. The man had practiced for years and had many approaches to tweaking that Pol found interesting. Pol began to write the information down, but Traxus stopped him.

“No written records. You can do whatever you like in the Empire, but I want some of my secrets to remain just that in Zasos.”

“Who taught you?”

Traxus smiled. “A magician from the Empire. He wasn’t a monk, nor was he from Deftnis, but the man had a masterful perspective of the patterns of life. He wanted to know what Daera was really like, so he ended up in Axtopol. I sought him out, thinking I knew so much. He asked too many questions I couldn’t answer, but when he left six months later, I finally could.”

“What was his name?”

Traxus shook his head. “I never could pronounce it properly, so I’ve forgotten. He headed south, and I didn’t hear from him again. Who knows what might have happened to an Imperial in Kiria.”

Pol didn’t know whether to believe all that Traxus said, but he understood the pattern in the same basic way that Pol did.

~~~

Chapter Thirty-One

~

P ol gathered those who would be involved in instigating the revolt into Traxus’s house.

“We will have three phases to our project,” Pol said. He didn’t want to call it a revolt since no one suggested tossing out the Clan Council. “Disrupt the tribes, sabotage the Placement Bureau, and then expose the Clan Lords as the parasites that they are. Gula and I will ride Demeron out to the tribes with our new rune books. These will provide us with a means of communicating with the tribes about our progress. During our time out on the plains, Traxus, Sula, Gula’s sister, and selected warriors will destroy the Placement Bureau’s rune boards, halting the wars out on the plains. Once that is done, we will see what it takes to expose the Clan Lords. Akil will take the lead there.”

“And what if no one cares?” Gula’s sister said.

“That’s a good question without a certain answer. There will be a cadre of tribal youth undergoing training. Our success might depend on gathering enough tribal leaders or healers to ride to Axtopol and foment the change at the training facilities.”

“Getting people to care is not your problem,” Traxus said. “I have other ideas. Most of them will depend on what we find in the capital. I haven’t walked the streets of Axtopol for a long time.” He squeezed Sura’s hand.

“We are taking a risk. There are lots of opportunities for betrayal,” Pol said. “I’ve been betrayed enough in my life, but it doesn’t surprise me. Be flexible, and if you sense you are in over your head, you probably are, so withdraw. You can escape back here, but be wary. The Clan Lord Council will not be pleased.”

Pol polled everyone to make sure they were all committed. All of them realized that their lives would have to change at some point. They all had relatives in the West and would like to see them share in their freedom.

The magicians in the village assembled and began to make the new rune books. Pol figured out a tweak to energize the small dots on a rune book. They put a square rune on the pages, as well, to denote that someone acknowledged reading the runes.

Pol and Gula rode out of the village, with forty books. They didn’t have the space for more, and they didn’t have time to seek out even forty tribes.

~

Demeron told Pol when he needed to rest. An additional rider and the weight of the books took a toll on Demeron’s speed, even when magically enhanced. They still entered the plains from the northeast in one-quarter of the time it took them to go in the other direction with the wagons.

Traxus, Akil, and the others were supposed to leave the next day. They didn’t have wagons so that they would make better time as well. Gula and Pol had a lot of traveling to do in the plains.

They stopped at an empty campsite among a small stand of trees at the edge of the plains for the night. Pol took all their gear off Demeron. Gula brought out the old rune book.

“There should be two tribes a day away.” She showed Pol the glowing dots on a section of the book. “I don’t know the date of their battle. We don’t want to be there when they fight.”

Pol nodded. “What can we bring them as a peace offering?”

“Meat? Perhaps we can go hunting.”

“Demeron, can you spot game?”

I can, the larger animals more clearly.

“Can you locate something close by?” Pol could easily locate humans and could faintly locate Shinkyan horses, but that was the extent of his locating skills.

Let’s do it now!

Pol smiled and saddled Demeron. “I already groomed you!”

Another grooming can be a reward for my helping you hunt, couldn’t it?

Okay, Pol said in his mind. He had been talking verbally as a courtesy to Gula.

They plunged into the grasses. Demeron and Pol communicated silently as they spread out and got closer.

We need to be downwind, Demeron said.

Pol spotted three antelopes. He brought up his bow, and with his new ability to shoot, he didn’t tweak the arrow, but let it fly to just below the shoulder of the animal, dropping it immediately.

The other two jumped out of the clearing. Pol found the animal not yet dead. He placed his hand on the beast’s chest and used his magic to stop its heart. Pol put his hand on the animal’s head. It was his first real use of magic since it had returned.

Pol put the antelope on Demeron and walked his horse back to Gula. He could see her with his location sense.

“Offering,” Pol said. He tied the animal up on a branch and cleaned the carcass.

“I didn’t see you do anything like that before.”

“What?” Pol said.

“Dress an animal. You seem experienced.”

Pol smiled. “I learned along with my friend Paki. His father Siggon scouted in my first father’s army. He often took us out of Borstall Castle and into the wood. He taught us how to do this.”

“And yet you never knew how to use a bow?”

Pol shook his head. “I was sickly as a child and couldn’t pull a bowstring back far enough to shoot with force.”

“You got over that.”

“Not without a lot of effort,” Pol said, as he told her of his adventures with Searl Hogton, the healer who cured Pol of the degenerative disease that he inherited from the Demrons.

“I would like to heal like that. Sometimes I can glimpse inside of wounds.”

“You can?”

Gula nodded.

“When we are done here, why don’t you come to Deftnis with me. Searl’s daughter has started an Abbey. Women and men are taught separately in the Empire. You could learn more from her.”

She leaned back and looked up at the starry sky. “I think I’d like that. I’m not ready to return to the plains after we finish all this.”

“I don’t blame you,” Pol said.

~

They reached one of the tribes after midday. Pol now wore the face of a Zasosian.

A few warriors surrounded them, but let them pass after seeing Gula’s healer robes.

“I’d like to see the tribe’s leader and your healer or whoever is the custodian of the book,” she said.

They nodded and led them to the biggest tent in the tribe.

“We bring news from the East,” Gula said.

The leader looked at Pol, and then his eyes swiveled up to Demeron.

“We have heard of a warrior riding with the Hawks on a huge black steed. We heard they disappeared on the way to Axtopol. Is that you?”

Pol nodded, not knowing if he heard anything good or bad. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword and glanced at Gula, who didn’t look any more comfortable than he.

“That is me. Gula is the healer of that tribe. It has disbanded.”

“Lord Boria has accepted that?”

Gula shook her head. “No. We have been to the East, and that is where we dissolved the tribe. We had won our five victories. Riders from the capital struck down our last opponents. Not wanting to be treated the same way, we sought refuge to the east.”

“You couldn’t scratch out a living in that forsaken land.”

“Have you ever been there?” Gula said. “If you had, you would have seen trees filled with game and rivers loaded with fish.”

“Assuming you don’t lie, why have you sought our tribe out?”

“I have something to show you and your book custodian.”

The chief stood with his arms folded. “Why should I do that?”

“Because I brought something to pay for your time.” Pol pulled a tarp off Demeron, revealing an antelope carcass. “Killed fresh last night,” Pol said.

A warrior touched the body. “It is cold!”

Pol smiled. “Frozen to stay fresh,” he said. “I am a magician of sorts and can perform such tricks.”

The leader inspected the animal. “It will soften?”

“By tonight,” Pol said.

After a grunt, the leader summoned a man dressed in healer’s garb. They entered his tent. Gula put two books on the rug that took up most of the tent’s floor.

“Two?” the healer looked at Gula.

“A demonstration of a new messaging book.”

“What is wrong with the old one?” the leader said.

“Do you want to kill rival tribe members at the expense of your own warriors’ lives?”

“We seek after the five victories that you earned.”

“What benefit is that?” Gula said.

“More metal, more cookery. A trip to Axtopol.”

“Is that worth your lives?”

“What else are we to do? We follow the will of our Clan Lord—“

Pol folded his arms. “Who gambles on your result. Sometimes your Clan Lord will gamble that you lose, did you know that?”

“I don’t think of such things,” the leader said.

“Perhaps you should. What if all the tribes stopped fighting? What if you roamed the plains, like you do now, except you could go where you want to go.”

“The Clan Lords would send soldiers out.”

“And if the soldiers didn’t come?”

The leader furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I can’t conceive of such a thing. What are the books?”

Gula gave a demonstration of writing in one book with glowing dots forming letters in the other.

“It is magic!” the leader said.

“That’s what makes the books work, silly,” the tribal healer said. He picked the book up and examined the dots. “Someone matched the dots up. Ingenious.” He pulled out an iron rod and deactivated the glowing dots. “Better than runes. Who invented this?”

Gula pointed to Pol.

“Do you think this is enough for us to turn our backs on our Clan Lord?” the leader said.

“Perhaps. Do you like sending your sons and daughters to Axtopol? You may never see your daughters again or know where they went.”

“It happens with sons, too,” the healer said.

The leader folded his arms. “We will get killed if we wander alone.”

Pol stood. “It isn’t our intention to have your tribe fend for itself. We will visit other tribes with this same message. You don’t have to make a decision now. We will leave this book with you. Let us know what you decide. We will let you change your mind at any time.”

Gula had the healer try out the book to verify that the dots worked. “The first page is linked to this book,” she said. “The other pages will link to other tribes. You are the second page. I will write your clan and your leader’s name.”

The healer gave Gula the information, and she wrote it on the second page and had the healer test it with a message, and then Gula did the same.

“If you make a decision, let us know.”

The leader nodded and led them out of his tent.

“You have given us much to think about,” the healer said. “He won’t be easily convinced, however.”

Pol nodded. “We are now going to the camp of your opponent. Farewell,” he said.

~

“I don’t think we succeeded,” Gula said.

Pol pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t be so hasty. This was our first try. What can we do better to convince them?”

They spent more time reviewing their discussion. Demeron even pitched in, and Pol told Gula what the big horse said, while they spent the night between camps. Pol found a wild boar this time. It was too big for the two and the boar carcass on Demeron, so they had to drag the beast.

“We will have to buy a few poles,” Pol said, “if we continue to give welcoming presents.”

“It didn’t help with the last tribe,” Gula said.

Their next visit was a little better. The tribe’s woman healer marveled at the new book concept. She sent a message to the first tribe’s healer and received a reply. The woman was almost giddy with excitement, and the leader had the same reaction.

So it went for two weeks. They had been to eleven nomad camps and didn’t bring meat after the first two tribes.

The twelfth tribe was just over a low rise.

“I’m nervous,” Gula said.

“Why?” Pol asked.

“I grew up among the people we are going to meet. Once my sister and I left, we were never allowed to return except for the one time we fought.”

Pol could hear the emotion in her voice. “Are your parents still alive?”

“Maybe. I have no idea.”

They entered the tent. No one recognized Gula. They dismounted and asked for the leader. Gula gasped when she recognized him.

“Gula!” the leader said. “Sister!” He rushed to embrace her. “I heard our sister is dead.”

Gula beamed. “She lives in the East and is doing well. I have seen her.”

The leader took them into his tent. An old woman sat sewing patches on clothes.

“Gula!”

Pol stepped outside as the two siblings and their mother reunited. He asked for the healer. An old woman walked up.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Pol. I brought Gula back.”

“Really?” The healer looked around the camp. “Will soldiers be attacking?”

Pol shook his head. “We come from the East with a message.”

~

Gula presented the story and demonstrated the books. “We wouldn’t have been separated if it weren’t for the Clan Lords,” she said. “With these books, we can communicate with the other tribes.”

“I will do what I can to help, but for your plan to work, most of the tribes need to agree to cast off the Clan Lords. How will we get metal and clothes?”

“Not to mention wagons and wheels,” the healer said.

“If nothing else, they will come from the East. There are vast forests.” The conversation continued until Gula’s mother called the discussion to a halt.

“I have seen my second son taken from me, as well as my daughters. My husband died in battle, as did Gula’s and yours, Hulza,” the old woman said looking at the healer. “It is time to put things right.”

The woman’s arguments put the decision clear for the tribe. “I will help you. Hulza will write what I say in the new book. We will all talk and come to a decision.”

Pol couldn’t ask for anything more.

The next tribe was three days away. Gula started to notice the discussion between the custodians of the books go back and forth. Sometimes she knew she didn’t get a chance to read what they said. Only one side had to put a rod to the dots to disable all the messages.

Pol would have to figure out a way to keep that from happening. Now that he knew the runes were wards, he could show Traxus how to tweak a layer or two of instructions, if the Zasos magician didn’t already know.

They spent a night at a clearing that looked like it might have been a campground at one point. Pol poked through the grass and discovered a large field of bones.

He walked back to their campsite. “Do you come by here often?”

“Never,” Gula said.

“Come with me.”

Pol showed her the bones, now half buried in the plains’ soil. “This was a massacre. It looks like more than two tribes were killed here.”

Gula shivered and put her arms around herself. “This is awful. Could the Clan Lords have done such a thing?”

Pol surveyed the bone field. “This is larger than a typical battleground,” he said. “Have you ever heard of an uprising of the tribes before?”

She shook her head as she bent down. “Even children,” she said pointing to a small skull.

“It’s time to use your message runes. Tell your brother about this place. The Clan Lords feel they can destroy tribes at their whim,” Pol said. “It is long past time to put a stop to the Great Game.”

Gula nodded. They returned to their camp. The healer wasted no time in getting off a message about needing to see a field of bones at their coordinates. Pol took one of the poles that they had acquired and tied a shirt to the top to act as a flag. He used his magic to embed it in the soil and tweaked the ground hard around it.

Now they had another reason to convince the tribes to throw off their enslavement to the Clan Lords.

~

Pol and Gula rode into a battleground just as a tribal war was about to start.  Two clans had lined up against each other, ready to fight. Pol let Gula off along with their bulky items. He rode between the two tribes, who were still in the jeering, taunting mode that began every clash.

“Stop this fight. I have something important to tell both of your tribes.”

“Who are you to interrupt our war?”

“I am Pol Cissert Pastelle, and I have come to bring you out of enslavement,” he said.

“We’re not slaves. We are free men!” one of the warriors said.

“Who move to places as you are told and fight tribes that you have no enmity with? Who give up your sons and daughters? Your daughters will never be seen again, and only some of your sons may return to your tribe? The Clan Lords do all of that to make you weaker, not stronger.”

A warrior raised his sword and charged Pol. Demeron moved to his left just as the warrior reached them, and Pol slapped his sword on the man’s shoulder with enough force to knock him off his horse.

“Who is next? I can do this all day,” Pol said.

A squad of four riders came at Pol from the other side. He held out a hand, and the horses stopped at the same time, throwing their riders off. Pol walked up to the horses and approached the men with his sword drawn.

“Do you wish to fight?”

Pol waited while two of the men rose and retrieved their swords.

“You try to persuade us of trickery?” one of the men said.

“No such thing now,” Pol said.

The two men attacked Pol. He jumped back as he usually did and tested out both of the men. He didn’t need to use sips of magic against these two and quickly disarmed them.

“Do you have any doubts that I could have killed you?”

They both shook their heads. “I will listen,” one of the men said. I am the leader of this tribe. I truly think you might be able to take us all on and prevail.”

Pol laughed, “I doubt that. I tire like anyone else. You would wear me down.” Pol meant what he said. He didn’t mention the role Demeron played in ordering the horses to stop.

He turned and beckoned to the other tribe. “Send your leader and your book keeper to us.

Seven sat in the center of the battleground on top of a carpet quickly brought from one of the tribes.  Gula handled the introductions. She remembered one of the tribes from when they fought in a previous battle. They were the ones who brought two healers.

Pol and Gula went through their practiced pitch, and Gula described her feelings of desolation when she walked among the bones of her fellow tribesmen. That did shake the leaders as nothing had before.

One of the leaders beckoned a couple of his warriors over and gave them the direction to the bone field. The other leader added two more warriors of his own and told them to verify what Gula said.

“We believe you, but it is better that tribal eyes see the atrocity,” one of the leaders said. “You have disturbed our fight and now our hearts.”

Gula showed them the new books. “You can communicate with other tribes. We only have enough for forty tribes, but more can be made.”

All five of the nomads looked in awe as Gula demonstrated the way to speak to other tribes across long distances. Pol began to see the dawn of understanding in the leaders’ eyes.

“This can transform our lives,” he said, looking at Pol. “I never really thought of how bound we were. We lived, we loved the plains, we fought, we traveled on. All the while the Clan Lords make money off our misfortune.”

“And if you deviate from their wishes…”

“Death,” one of the healers said. “I can face death on my terms, but not as a result of the Clan Lord’s caprice.”

The others nodded. They had won over these two tribes at one go.

Gula wrote the tribal names on the corresponding pages in their book as the other book keepers wrote all the other tribes linked to pages in their books.

The three healers looked at Pol and Gula. “How are you going to get all the tribes to accept your books?”

“We aren’t,” Pol said. “We’d like you to help us spread the word as you meet up with other tribes. We only have twenty-six books left, but we can produce more. What we need is for the word to spread. If both of you can send others to meet two other tribes and they meet two other tribes, and so on, all the tribes can be contacted in a short time.”

“I will be happy to take some books with me,” one of the healers said.

“I have a warrior who has always wanted to visit other tribes. Will you train him?”

Gula nodded. “We can’t leave books with every tribe, but make a list of who you contact. If a tribe wants a book, you can send a message to me, and I will include them on my list.”

They all nodded.

One of the leaders said, “Don’t worry about spreading the word. We will get it done, even if we have to use one book to show it to all the tribes.”

Pol smiled, feeling relieved. He didn’t know how the message would be received, but it looked like the tribes were, at the very least, thinking about going on their own.

Gula wrote messages out on seven slips of parchment that the tribes had made to accompany those who would seek out the other tribes.

They spent a few more days training more volunteers. Nine more agreed to head south and west into the plains.

Hulza, the healer from Gula’s brother’s tribe, came with the four warriors who traveled to inspect the bone field.

“I hoped you hadn’t left. When you departed, I was hesitant about ignoring the Clan Lords, but what you discovered…” She had to pause while her eyes watered. “No one deserves such a fate. We identified four tribes. Four destroyed at once. We don’t know who they were, but we’ve ignored disappearances and unexpected calls to Axtopol in the past. No longer…no longer.” Gula hugged the woman. “You could be one of them when your time comes.”

“I love the plains,” Hulza said. “But this…” She shook her head and hugged Gula tighter.

Gula wrote out three more messages and gave eight books to her. “Have my brother send out warriors.”

The healers and leaders divided up sections of the plains within a few weeks on the maps in their books and pledged to spread the word.

“How many more fields exist?” Gula said.

Pol shook his head. “If you were able to map the travel instructions of the tribes, you could probably find them where the paths of the tribes changed. The soldiers are wary of the tribes, so they probably don’t penetrate too deeply into the plains.”

“That is true,” one of the leaders said. “The supply wagons don’t even go halfway into the plains from Axtopol. Over the course of a year, tribes always are assigned battles closer to the capital to make resupply easier.”

~~~

Chapter Thirty-Two

~

P ol and Gula headed towards Axtopol along a route that the tribes didn’t follow. They found the remains of two sites where tribes had been slaughtered.

“Just like our last opponents,” Gula said. “We would have joined them if it wasn’t for you.”

Pol shook his head. “There would have been no need if we had forfeit the battle that ended up as our fourth victory.”

They rode to the north of the capital and entered from that direction. The southern approaches were thicker with soldiers due to the trade with Kiria. Gula didn’t know Axtopol much better than Pol did. They finally found their way to the townhouse that Traxus said would be their base of operations.

Pol used his location sense to see if anyone was home after knocking on the front door and not receiving an answer. No one inhabited the building. They went around to the back alley and found the stable on the opposite side empty like the house. It looked like horses were boarded recently, but not in the last few days.

After watering Demeron and finding some grain to feed him, Pol and Gula entered the house from the back. Gula was surprised that Pol could open the locked door without resorting to using any tools.

“How did you do that?” she said.

Pol smiled. “I can tweak my way in because I can see into the lock and tweak the mechanism.”

“See inside?” She stood in front of the lock and concentrated.

Pol heard a click. “Can you do it?”

Gula smiled broadly. “With some practice. It’s murky inside, but I can.”

That boded well for her picking up advanced healer skills if he could get her to accompany him to Deftnis.

“You go inside and look around to see if the group from the East has been here. I’m going to groom Demeron. He deserves it. I wouldn’t want to carry him for weeks like he carried us.”

Pol stepped out, looking at the unkempt yard. He found a brush in the stable and began to work on Demeron’s coat.

Are you in danger here? Demeron said.

“Yes, we are until we succeed or until we leave. I want to take Gula to Deftnis. Searl’s daughter can teach her about healing and Searl can work with her to look inside her patients.”

Deftnis. I’ll be looking forward to seeing the herd again.

“Don’t get attached to staying for long. There is unfinished business in Shinkya and Borstall, although I wonder if Grostin is being manipulated.”

Pol looked around the stable and found a box of scrap metal, including some old swords bent out of shape.

“If we have to wait for a few days, I’m going to make some throwing knives and splinters,” Pol said.

He rubbed his forehead. After being away from the Empire for so long, he discovered a bit of anxiousness lurking in his emotions. He wondered if the Eastrilian had made it all the way to Deftnis or if the bird messages would shock them. Pol smiled at the thought of getting his memories back.

The lurking feeling of the Demron presence was totally gone, but Pol felt that those memories would drift to the front of his mind when he needed them, just like his other memories had.

“I’ll see about getting some more grain for you.”

Demeron nodded.

Once inside, he found Gula going through a wardrobe of old clothes.

“Perhaps these were Sura’s,” she said. “They don’t quite fit, but I need to go out and get some food. If Traxus made it here, he didn’t stay for long. Other than some seasonings, the cupboard is bare.”

Pol ran his finger along the top of a cabinet. “This place has been taken care of,” he said, “I only picked up this much dust.” He showed his finger to Gula.

She giggled. “I did the same thing. You’ll have to fetch water. I don’t recall seeing a common well anywhere.”

“Probably to the south. Get changed, and we can both walk that way. If there is a common water source, then food vendors will be close.”

Gula smiled. “Of course.”

They unlocked the front door. Pol pretended to lock it with a key while he moved the mechanism by tweaking, and armed with two buckets, headed down the street with Gula.

“I promised Demeron some grain, but I suppose that gets delivered.” He looked back for an address on the building and wondered if that might draw attention to the house, but decided that it wouldn’t work since the hay in the stable was relatively fresh.

Pol passed an older woman carrying a large jar.

“Is that water?”

“No, it’s a jar. There is water inside it, though.” Her eyes twinkled.

“I’m new to Axtopol and am staying with friends. They asked me to fetch water. I assume there is a fountain or something down the road?”

“There is.” She peered at Pol. “Are you new to Axtopol?”

“We are newly arrived from the plains,” Gula said.

“Oh. That’s become rarer and rarer these days. Do you have Zasos coins?”

Pol nodded.

“The guards that sell the water don’t take foreign coinage any longer. If you have any, you’ll have to go all the way to the other side of the city to get it exchanged.”

Pol smiled. “I have plenty,” he said.

“Have a nice day, then,” the woman said and went on her way.

“Do you have any coins?” Pol said.

“Only a few.”

“They I’ll have to make some. I didn’t tell the woman the truth.”

“And it’s good that you didn’t. We stuck out enough on this street. Let’s hurry,” Gula said.

The guard only charged a few copper coins for both buckets.

“Let’s go back to the house first,” Pol said. “We will need more money.”

“Are you going to produce it out of thin air?”

Pol laughed. “I don’t think that would work, but I can tweak my Kirian coins to look like Axtopol’s.

They went back to the house. Pol purified the water with his magic and did the same to the other bucket for Demeron. He laid his coins on the table and went to work. Soon they had a good sum of Zosasian coinage.

Pol tweaked each coin a bit so that they didn’t all look alike. The effort made him a bit thirsty, so he took a drink, found another container for the remaining water, and both of them left with Pol taking the bucket.

Gula now had a hefty purse and went to buy clothes. Pol volunteered to stuff the pantry. He soon found he wasn’t the best person for this particular job since he only had a rough idea how the Zasosians cooked their food. He used the bucket to carry his purchases.

Gula had bought clothing for both of them, as well as a few Zasosian delicacies. She laughed at Pol’s purchases but said now they wouldn’t starve. He had to remind her that they still had their travel food, but that just made her laugh again. Pol returned to the fountain square, having found a feed store and arranged for a delivery of grain to house’s stable. He said he was a friend of the owner.

After dinner, Gula rested after making up a bed on the second level of the three-level house. Pol brought out his weapons and started with Shinkyan knives, since his metal splinters wouldn’t penetrate the protection wards of his enemy in the Empire, whoever they were.

The splinters were easier, and soon Pol had plenty of concealable weapons. He pulled out his Shinkyan-style long knife and added some of the left-over sword steel to add heft to the blade, then the design of the weapon came to him with little searching. He smiled as he worked on the blade. He had to increase the size of the tang for balance.

The last task was to modify and improve the balance of his old-style Shinkyan sword. If he ever had the opportunity, he would retrieve the originals that he left within the wall of their Fearless faction quarters.

Pol pulled out the carved tan horse he brought with him from Kitanga. The horse was Amble’s color, and perhaps that was why the carving appealed to him. He wondered if Shira still had the black horse? He didn’t know, but he found himself eager to find out. He realized that his reticence to be friends with girls might have been one of those blocked memories seeping through.

Pol stretched and laid on the comfortable couch on the main floor and went to sleep.

The next day, they tried to contact Traxus. He watched Gula use a wooden stylus as an aid to activate the rune dots. “We are at Axtopol house waiting.”

Pol was ready to walk the city streets when a message came. “Be there tonight.” Pol grinned. He would take this technique back to Deftnis. It had its uses for near and far communication.

He and Gula decided they would do some advanced scouting, so they headed for the main square where the Placement Bureau building was. They walked inside and sat waiting their turn in their new Axtopol clothes.

Pol noticed that the big board facing them had fewer runes lit. The employees seemed a little more agitated, but they were hurrying and scurrying when he first visited, so he might be imagining the increase in tension.

Their turn finally came up. No one would notice him looking like a Zasosian, even if they remembered his first visit. He slowly moved ahead in the line to the front counter. They waited for a bit until a man waited on them.

“We are magicians just in from the plains and wondered if we could get employment in the Placement Bureau.”

“Just in, you say?” the man said who waited on them.

“We were separated from our tribe, who were told to come to Axtopol,” Gula said.

The man looked disturbed. “Just a minute, if you please. Stay right there.”

Pol wasn’t about to do that when the man hurried through the door at the side of the board. They quickly slipped out the front door. Pol pulled Gula into an alley and tweaked invisibility. They looked on as armed men poured out into the square. The man at the desk searched the square and received a rebuke from the leader of the bureau’s armed force.

Pol removed the tweak.

“What did you just do? The counter man looked right at us.”

Pol smiled. “I have a few tricks of my own.” He tweaked invisibility and watched Gula’s mouth drop. “See? Or should I say don’t see?”

“Amazing. We need to head back.”

Pol bought a couple of new buckets and filled them with water. He noticed the house had a cistern disguised as a cabinet in the kitchen. It was half-filled after the two new buckets of water. He made sure to purify it before he forgot.

Both of them sat down.

“The tribes are already making trouble,” Pol said. “I wonder if that will complicate whatever Traxus has in mind for the Placement Bureau. Tomorrow, let’s stroll past the clan compounds and the training grounds.”

Gula nodded. “I have different clothes to wear and will pull back my hair.”

“I don’t think the man at the Bureau got a good enough view of us to be able to give anyone else an accurate description.”

Pol got up and checked the stable. The three bags of grain had been delivered, so Pol fed Demeron and groomed him again before he left with Gula.

~

If Pol thought the Placement Bureau looked a bit tense, it was much worse walking along the clan compounds. Horses rode in and out carrying messages. He noticed faces lined with concern as they strolled past on the other side of the street.

They came to the training grounds and saw young men and women wearing military shirts over their trousers and marching. Pol didn’t know how effective a column of trainees as soldiers would be traveling through plain grasses that could be shoulder high. That would be if the warriors would fight against the tribes.

Pol and Gula buried themselves in the crowd that watched the marching. “Even women who might not have had any tribal training in arms. Only some of them will fare well in a battle,” Gula said. “What a waste of youth.”

Pol thought she was projecting her experience onto what she saw. Did she think she wasted her youth? She had had an arranged marriage without children, as far as Pol knew. She was still childbearing age in Pol’s opinion; she was certainly younger than Ako, Shira’s Sister companion.

“Have you seen enough?” Pol asked.

Gula nodded. They walked all the way across town to the townhouse.

“The tribes need to know what they face. How can they fight their sons and daughters?”

“We will be busy for the rest of the day writing in our books,” Pol said. “Is there any way to tell the sons and daughters what we hope is happening on the plains?”

“You saw how they were being kept apart,”

“Don’t I look like they do? If I don’t, I’ll find someone who does. Tell me what I need to know about the training facility.”

~

The capital should have been quiet, but a different group of youth were drilling when Pol slipped into the dormitory compound. He found a pile of uniform tops and found a size that fit.

He redistributed his splinters and Shinkyan throwing knives and headed deeper into the dormitories. A group of young warriors talked in the shadows, away from the torches that lit up the walkways. Pol disrupted their conversation as he approached.

“Who are you?” one of the young men said.

“A friend. I bring news from the plains.” Pol surveyed the unfriendly faces. “I traveled with a Hawk clan tribe. We won our five victories and were recalled to Axtopol, but we didn't make it. The Placement Bureau recalled the tribe we fought last, but we found them killed by soldiers.” Pol pause to look at their faces.

“I heard about the Hawks. We were told that Kirians killed them. I don’t believe you.”

“Our leader was a friend, one of Lord Boria’s sons.”

Another youth spoke up. “Akil. I am a Hawk.”

“Then you will recognize this.” Pol pulled out the black tile and let the boy examine it.

He looked up at Pol. “This is genuine.”

“Akil was our leader, but Kirians didn't kill us. We fled to the East. We came back and discovered that the Placement Bureau and the Clan Council is angry at some of the tribes for not fighting. You are being trained to fight your fathers, brothers, and uncles,” Pol said.

“We are headed to the escarpment to fight the Kirians.”

“I’ve been there. The Axtopol guards are enough to keep the Kirians away if it becomes necessary, but it isn't. You are being trained to restore the Great Game for the Placement Bureau.”

“That’s not what we were told. How can you come to us and say such a thing?”

“What will you do if you are commanded to fight the tribes?” Pol asked.

“I’d have a hard time doing that,” one of them said. The others nodded their heads in agreement.

“Good. Warn others among you. If you refuse to fight, then just walk over and join the tribes. I can communicate with them through rune books.”

“Only the Placement Bureau can do that. You need to be a magician, not a warrior.”

Pol tweaked a deep blue flame in his hand. “I am both. I am dedicated to freeing the tribes from killing each other just to allow the Clan Lords to pass their idle time gambling on the results.”

“That is a pastime,” one of the young warriors said.

“It isn't. The Great Game is the purpose for their existence. Everything else is incidental to that. We won five victories, and our reward was death, which we avoided. Spread the word. If your leaders turn into the plains, you are betraying your tribes. Remember that.”

Pol could do no more. He wished them well and left them, feeling their eyes remaining on him until he tweaked invisibility.  He returned to listen to their comments.

“Do you believe him?”

“Few Hawks possess a tile like that. He may not be a Hawk, but I can’t disregard the tile. I have an easier time believing him about the Hawk tribe more than some made up danger from Kirian soldiers. What do the tribes have that Kirians would want?”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Just like he said, if we turn to fight the tribes, I am joining my people.”

“So am I, and we all should spread the word to the other trainees.”

All the warriors agreed.

Pol left them, hoping that his words were enough to blunt the actions of the Clan Council.

~

Gula started when Pol entered the house.

“You are wearing a uniform shirt. You were successful?”

“Maybe,” Pol said. “I had an interesting chat with a few warriors. I would characterize it as planting a seed. I hope it grows. The young warriors were told they would go to fight the Kirians, but I know the Kirians have no interest in Zasos. Even if they did, a few Zasosian soldiers can hold off any army coming up the escarpment.”

“What did they say?”

“I let them know that the real purpose of their training is to fight their brother and sister tribes.” Pol relayed the entire conversation.

He stopped when he heard a pounding on the door. He grabbed his sword and located some people out front.

“Visitors,” he said to Gula.

The door began to open.

“Don’t attack me!” Traxus had arrived.

Fifteen people tumbled into the house, including Sura and Akil. Traxus assigned them spaces and told them to come into the main room when they were done.

Pol and Gula told them of their time on the plains and in Axtopol.

“The Placement Bureau is worried if they truly wanted to retain you,” Sura said.

“Did you bring more books?” Gula asked.

“There is a cart in the stable that we will empty now that you’ve reported. We left our other horses in a stableyard closer to the northern entrance,” Traxus said.

Everyone pitched in, and the cart, filled with books and food, emptied out quickly.

Pol took the couch in the main room as his bed after a late dinner for the newcomers. He shared the room with four villagers.

He was too wound up to go to sleep, so he dressed and grabbed buckets to fetch water.

“What are you doing?” Traxus said from the stairs.

“Water,” Pol said lifting up the buckets.

“Did you go to the fountain square?”

“Where else?”

Traxus crooked a finger. “Come with me.” He led him through a closet and into a basement. “You can use your magic to draw from the well.”

Pol looked at a pipe surrounded by a wooden tub. “How far down is it?”

“You tell me.”

“I can’t sense water.”

“Have you ever tried?”

Pol had to shake his head.

“Let your mind follow the pipe, and you will sense something. I see it as a thickness.”

Pol relaxed and did as Traxus instructed and sensed a swirl, like looking at someone stirring up a bucket. Even detecting water looked different for each magician. Once he sensed the swirl, he tweaked it up the pipe. He opened his eyes and watched water flow up to the pipe’s edge and over, creating their own fountain.

He could immediately see an improvement. “If you put a bend at the top of the pipe, the water will fill a bucket.”

“What?” Traxus said. “What kind of bend?”

Pol curled his hand over.

“That makes sense.” The magician grinned. “I imagine that’s how they do it in the Empire.”

“I never noticed,” Pol said. “Maybe that’s why the idea came so quickly.” Or it could have been an alien memory. It didn’t matter. Pol ended the tweak and looked into the iron pipe. He thinned it out as he drew the pipe longer and then put the bend in it, pointed down into the tub.

“You try it first,” Pol said.

“I’ll do just that.” Traxus put one of the buckets into the partially-filled tub and tweaked water nearly to the top. “That is splendid. I’ll show Sura. She can draw water, too.”

They filled the other two buckets from the tub and lugged them upstairs.

Pol purified each bucket before filling the cistern.

“Do other Axtopol houses have wells in their basements?”

Traxus shook his head. “We wanted to be able to hide in the house. With a water supply and dried food, we can go for some time. With Sura and I able to heat water by tweaking, we can even enjoy cooked meals,” Traxus said quietly amidst the snoring in the main room. “Let’s go outside for a bit.”

Pol followed Traxus outside. He checked on a slumbering Demeron first.

“What are your plans?” Pol said. “I understand parts of it, but now that I’ve been to Axtopol, have you sharpened them up?”

“There is one thing we haven’t quite figured out. We need to destroy the two primary boards in the Placement Bureau.”

“Is that all?” Pol said. “I can do that tonight if you wish.”

Traxus coughed. “How would you do that without being caught?”

Pol smiled. “I still have lots of secrets I haven’t shared with you,” he said. “Do you know what a Seeker is?”

“Someone who finds?” Traxus said.

“More than that. A Seeker investigates for the Emperor, mostly. Some Imperial countries have Seekers or hire one of the Emperor’s.” Pol thought of Valiso Gasibli hired by Ranno to protect him. “A Seeker also knows how to do clandestine investigations. I have concealment skills.”

“The invisibility that you showed us?”

Pol nodded. “That and more. I can get into the Placement Bureau and wipe away all the runes. Would you like a demonstration? Stay here.” He walked back inside and grabbed one of the books that he had finished.

“This is one of yours?”

Pol smiled. “So I can repair what I destroyed. Activate a rune. Just a spot will do.”

Traxus did as Pol asked. Both of them saw the glowing rune. Pol waved his hand over it, and it ceased to glow.

“Try activating it again.”

The rune no longer worked.

“I learned to deactivate wards in the Empire, and the runes are, basically wards, as we discussed before.”

“Could I learn to do that?”

“I think of the ward shriveling up and turning to dust and tweak it that way. Want to give it a try?”

Traxus grinned. Pol activated another rune. It took Traxus two tries, but the rune deactivated. Pol tried to activate it, but the rune was gone. After a few more practices Traxus chuckled silently in the dark.

“To think it would be that easy. I could have stopped this nonsense long ago.”

Pol shrugged. “The important thing is to end the Great Games now. There is limited use to erasing the runes in a book unless you’ve improperly directed them.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Traxus put his hand on Pol’s shoulder. “We won’t strike for a few days,” he said. “Our people need to be in place. Once the Placement Bureau,” Traxus couldn’t help but bark a laugh, “is deactivated, the Games are essentially over until new books are made and distributed. We won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know what will happen,” Pol said. “Once the boards are inactive, anything might occur from spontaneous revolution to the Clan Lords clamping down on Axtopol, declaring a city emergency. We will have to be prepared for more contingencies.”

“That gives us something to do while we are waiting a suitable time.” Traxus yawned. “I still have to get some sleep. Sura will be wondering where I went.”

~~~

Chapter Thirty-Three

~

Shira

~

S ummer turned into fall, fall turned into winter, and winter turned into spring. Shira had lived in Redearth for more than three years. Ako had left with Fadden for Deftnis. She indicated that they would return in the spring, but Shira hadn’t heard a thing from her friend.

King Grostin’s attentions had turned north to Tarida. He had used the same strategy there and had met similar results if the birds from Yastan brought accurate messages.

Before summer arrived, Malden brought untrained troops to replace the more seasoned soldiers that Fadden had brought to Redearth a few years ago. Along with new troops came an experienced commander and an invitation to Deftnis.

General Axe looked Shira in the eye. “Tell me what you’ve done and the strategies you’ve employed,” the Imperial officer said to Shira. He kept straightening out his iron-gray mustache. Shira had to admit the tall, lean General looked dashing for a man not far into middle age.

His eyes twinkled, and when he spoke, he tended to exaggerate things for effect. The way he did it made Shira smile. The man had a touch when it came to people, she decided.

She went over the campaigns in detail and offered to introduce him to some of the North Salvan troops who were mind-controlled and accepted amnesty if they traveled to the southern part of the country.

“That’s a dangerous decision,” Axe said, his demeanor turned serious.

“They are in a controlled area,” Shira said. “Queen Isa is gracious, but exercises caution when she needs to.”

“If I hadn’t met you first, I would be incredibly impressed by what you’ve done here. Now that I’ve met you, I am astounded. I am sure Queen Isa knows of your accomplishments.”

“She does. We are good friends,” Shira said. “I’ve learned much and haven’t kept my thoughts and what we’ve accomplished here secret.”

“I’ll do the same. Take me to Little Tishiko. I’d like to meet the Shinkyans.”

Shira mounted Amble, who was thrilled to see the four Shinkyan horses that the newly arrived Imperial magicians had brought with them.

Axe stopped at a rise overlooking the fort and the village in the distance. He grinned. “It’s like a different world,” he said.

The fort had four pagodas rising in each corner. The Imperial troops had built exactly what the Shinkyans designed. It made a mockery of the fake Shinkyan buildings in Covial.

“My Lady,” the Shinkyan guard said in Eastrilian. “This is our new commander?”

“General Axe,” the man saluted the guard as they rode into the fort.

Shira saw Shinkyans and the old Imperial troops talking to Axe’s contingent.

“I thought Shinkyans didn’t want to mix with Imperials.” Axe said.

“We’ve learned there is room enough for both of us,” Shira said. “However, the barracks are not mixed.”

Axe nodded and smiled. “Too much of a good thing and all that.”

“Yes, all that,” Shira said.

That made the General laugh. “I can only hope to maintain while you are gone, Lady Shira. I will address the troops later.”

“Why not now?” Shira said. “Let’s hand off the command here and now. I think the troops will enjoy the surprise.” Shira determined that a new pattern needed to be established and that would solidify more easily if she left for Deftnis and let the man establish his command without her around.

The Shinkyan commander, a Grand Master, walked up to Shira. “My Lady,” she saluted in Shinkyan fashion, “is this our new leader?”

“Gather all the troops and the officers. We will formally introduce General Axe,” Shira said.

They dismounted, and Shira found a landing on the stairway leading up to the fort’s wooden palisade wall. Axe told Shira of the personal tragedy of his wife dying recently. His grown children lived in the kingdom of Waring, where he originally came from.

Axe’s assignment to Redearth would hopefully give the General some time to heal, and training the raw troops would provide more distraction.

The troops finally assembled.

“I am leaving for a while to visit Deftnis. I will probably be gone for a season or more.”

The troops hooted their dissatisfaction of the news.

“Emperor Hazett III has sent a temporary replacement, General Darwell Axe of the Imperial Army. We have talked, and he is impressed by what we’ve accomplished in Redearth.”

Shira had to wait a few moments before the shouting stopped. “Take good care of him while I am gone. If the North Salvans return, you know what to do, and those of you who don’t, find out! That’s what the General is here to do. Make me proud. Make Pol Cissert Pastelle, Duke of Redearth proud.”

The soldiers cheered as they walked down the stairs. Well-wishers crowded around Shira. She had to part the crowds to introduce General Axe to the outgoing commander, Captain Corior They shook the hands of the soldiers, Shinkyan, Imperial, and South Salvan, and finally rode out of the fort towards the village newly-named Honor.

The highest-ranking Shinkyans stood in front of the council hall. Elder Harona would not permit the organization to resemble the bureaucracy or royalty in the village. She set up the village as one faction called Honor to remind the Shinkyans that they were to be honorable in all of their dealings with each other and with outsiders. Shira approved of the concept. It allowed Elder Harona to run the village but reminded her she needed to accommodate those with whom they worked.

Axe greeted the women with practiced cordiality. The man impressed Shira with his demeanor. He deserved a much more responsible and visible posting, but she hoped he would stay long, and Shira frankly felt comfortable leaving Redearth in his capable hands.

“When will you return to Shinkya?” General Axe said.

“Are you seeking our departure?” Harona looked Axe in the eye.

“You misinterpret my statement, Elder. I merely want to know if you will be here to support me while I have this posting.”

“And how long is your posting?”

“If the North Salvan’s stay north, then two seasons, maybe three. I have a great deal of latitude and serve at Lady Shira’s pleasure.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I thought the Emperor placed you here and displaced Shira,” Harona said.

Shira wanted to say something, but she kept her mouth shut as the two bantered. She could tell that some of their conversation was a tugging match to test the other. Harona knew full well that Shira had expressed that a break would be much looked forward to in response to a message on another topic that Malden had recently sent.

The bantering ended, and Harona and Axe rose and bowed to each other.

“I hope that we will work together well,” Axe said in awful Shinkyan.

His attempt made Harona beam. “I think we shall. We will hone your peculiar pronunciation.”

Axe laughed. “I look forward to it.”

The Elder put her arms around Shira. “May you return to us unharmed and happy.”

Shira smiled. “I will. I’ll be leaving as soon as the returning troops are ready. Paki will accompany me.”

Axe smiled. “That will be the first thing in the morning day after tomorrow,” Axe said. “I’ll make certain it happens.”

Shira felt a little bit of Axe’s cold, hard edge of command.

~

All the returning soldiers, healers, and magicians were mounted, and they used packhorses rather than wagons.

Pentor and Annet stood on the porch of the mansion. Axe elected to live at Fort Tishiko, although he would spend time in the war room with Shira’s permission, which she freely gave.

Karo Nagoya trotted around a corner and joined them. “Elder Harona said that she would be more than pleased to have me accompany you. I have a student who went to Deftnis and would like to see the place.”

Shira didn’t mind. If Karo became tedious, she would send him to the back of the long column. Four hundred soldiers had come with Fadden, and three hundred twenty-six would return.

They would be joining the column of soldiers, headed by Captain Corior, a few miles ahead. Shira let the others ride ahead, stopping at the gate to the manor. This had been her home for nearly four years. The shadow of Pol joined her every move, her every thought. He defined her thinking for all that time. She hoped, no, Shira was certain, that she had faithfully acted in Pol’s place.

How she wished he had been there to help her learn military tactics, to solve the myriad problems that arose coordinating three distinct fighting groups. Pol knew about agriculture, but Shira now had more practical experience, learning from Pentor and Pol’s tenant farmers. The coffers of Redearth grew to overflowing while she and Pentor labored to make the duchy productive.

She ached for the time to show Pol what she had done. To know he was alive made that a wonderful possibility.

Amble told her the others were getting far ahead. She turned and sighed, her eyes welling with emotion. She knew she had done well.

~

They rode just below the edge of the border with North Salvan, and then they crossed into the very edge as they climbed the low pass that separated North Salvan from Finster. They passed an empty North Salvan border shack and a similarly empty Finsterian post.

A rider headed towards the commander of the Imperial Troops, Captain Corior, riding at the front of the long line.

The rider took off back to where he had come as another officer broke from the column galloping back to Shira.

“There is a force of North Salvans heading our way. There might be as many in their column as we have.”

Shira told Amble to gallop to Captain Corior.

“It doesn’t make sense to turn back,” the Captain said. “There are no South Salvan forces closer than a day, and the column will reach us in less than two hours.”

Shira shook her head. She hadn’t thought about spies in South Salvan, since they always made final plans just before deploying the troops. This time the column had left Redearth and continued straight without an evasive action, not that she thought it necessary. Now she regretted not planning more thoroughly. Corior had dutifully followed her orders.

“Then let’s find a place to fight,” the Captain said, pulling out a map.

She asked Amble if she could lead the horses to fight.

Not these Imperials. They are too independent to follow orders just before a fight. I’m sorry. Demeron was a master at getting us to do what he wanted. He didn’t even force us.

Shira missed Pol and Demeron for an intense moment.

“No,” Shira said. “We will be on the downslope heading into Finster. We need to reverse and take the fight to them. That’s what we’ve drilled on, and that’s what we’ll do.  They won’t expect us to be the attacker.”

The Captain grinned. “Good thinking, Commander.” He called the officers together, and with Shira, developed a quick strategy. The healers would follow with the packhorses. Magicians were assigned to split into two flanking columns, and more than two hundred soldiers would attack the North Salvans head-on.

Shira headed to the magicians with Paki in tow. Karo elected to stay with the healers, having no direct fighting experience. Even he had learned offensive tweaks from the Imperial magicians, so the healer contingent wasn’t without teeth.

Shira discussed the strategies with the magicians. Their primary purpose would be to broadcast the tweak to disable mind-control and compulsion. Shira sent a magician adept with shields to the main force to protect Captain Corior.

They rode six abreast down from the pass with each outside column able to split into flanking units. Captain Corior led with the magician at his side and surrounded himself with mounted archers in the first four rows.

The scout who had first brought the news of the enemy returned. At their speed, they would clash with the enemy in half an hour. Corior slowed down the columns. If the enemy rode faster than they did, their mounts would be tired by the time they reached them.

The twists and turns in the low mountain pass hid them as other scouts came and departed, leaving updates on the enemy progress. Shira saw a pillar of dust rising along the ridge, plain in the clear sky. “There they are. Let their scouts see the main group. It’s time to split the columns.”

Shira waved to Captain Corior as she took her magicians and soldiers to the right, while the other column slipped behind a low ridge to her left. She kept her bearings on the approaching dust cloud and pulled out her sword. Paki did the same, riding at her side.

“I’ll protect you,” he said.

Shira managed a light laugh she didn’t feel, “Protect yourself, first,”

She spotted a higher ridge ahead and led them behind it. The main column had increased their pace and now sent up a column of dust on their own. She went forward to maintain the pace and noticed another cloud of dust just ahead of them.

“They are sending out a flanking force, too!” she said as she loosened her sword and pulled out her bow, uncapping the two quivers secured in front of her. She thanked herself for keeping her archery skills honed while she lived at Redearth.

The enemy flanking force appeared just ahead. Shira emptied her quivers before the first opponent reached them. The magicians sent out their joint tweaks. Shira hadn’t learned how they did that, but it was effective. Some of the horses slowed up, and then four or five men fell from their horses after compulsion was removed. Magicians were under the compulsion spells.

Shira took a deep breath, thinking for the flash of a moment of Valiso Gasibli and Darrol Netherfield once under compulsion. She concentrated on a shield to protect Paki and her as she charged into the enemy’s front.

With the disruption caused by the spell removal, the enemy column of fifty riders was quickly taken care of. Dead and injured soldiers remained, with a few of Shira’s contingent lying on the ground.

She didn’t have time to think of that as she led the rest of her contingent through a gap in the ridge towards the main road. She couldn’t see evidence of another enemy column on the other side as she looked down to see the battle. The magicians arrayed themselves and waved a flag to the magicians already in position on the other side and eliminated the spells on the main enemy.

Shira could see how the Emperor vanquished the South Salvan army. Horses and men began to amble as the mind-controlled enemy acclimated to clearer thinking.

“Let’s head down!” Shira said, leading the column into the flank of Grostin’s forces. The magicians began to put soldiers to sleep. Shira blasted a few with air pulses before protecting the magicians. Sleep was a better weapon than blowing a man off his horse.

The battle finally ended. The enemy force was corralled into a single group while the healers rode up, and both soldiers and healers began to work on friend and enemy alike.

Shira stood with her sword in hand as she walked through the enemy, seated on the ground. She noticed an officer and called Paki over to her to be a witness.

After attempting to remove the oily black film that Ako had seen, she administered a truth spell; she asked, “Why did you attack us?”

“We followed our orders.”

“Who gave you your orders?”

“They came from our central command.”

She shook her head. This man was trying to circumvent the spell.

“Where is your central command?”

“In North Salvan.”

Shira pulled out a map. “Point to its location.”

The officer looked up at her and scowled. “Here.” He had to point to a place close to where Val had led them across the border.

“You received a bird?”

“We did, back at our camp.”

“Which is where?”

His finger touched a spot at the western edge of North Salvan, still not far from the South Salvan border or where they were.

Captain Corior walked up. Shira repeated the pertinent questions.

“How many men are there along the North Salvan border with South Salvan?”

“Two thousand.”

“How many of those men arrived in the last three months?” Shira said.

“Fifteen hundred.”

The number surprised Shira. That meant an escalation of Grostin’s attacks. Two thousand men would normally be enough to push back the border, but South Salvan had prepared well and could repel the troops unless they found a soft spot, and Shira knew those existed.

“The Emperor must hear of this,” the Captain said.

“Send a bird to Pentor and General Axe describing the location of their camp and the central command. Queen Isa needs to attack the command area first.”

“Are you heading back to Redearth?” the Captain said.

Shira shook her head. “I’m going to look for help at Deftnis. We need more healers and magicians who can peer through the skulls of our captives.”

“Very well. What do you intend to do with these soldiers?”

Shira shivered at the words she was about to speak. “That is up to you. My business in Deftnis is more urgent, now.”

“Please command me to return to Redearth, if you will allow,” Corior said. “I’ll send a detachment with you to Deftnis.”

“You have it. Return to Redearth and report to General Axe. Still send the birds, please.”

Corior saluted to Shira and left to attend to the disposition of the North Salvan troops. She didn’t want to know what his decision was.

Paki looked at Shira and followed her on his mount. The Captain commanded twenty men, including a healer to follow with sufficient packhorses.

Paki looked back at the soldiers. “He will kill the prisoners,” Paki said.

Shira shook her head. “I know, but that officer we interrogated wasn’t under mind-control. He is an enemy of the Empire with two thousand troops at the border. That exceeds the Emperor’s limit. Grostin must be mobilizing much of North Salvan. Queen Isa will have to continue to improve her defenses. She just picked up a few hundred more trained troops, thanks to Captain Corior.”

War in the Baccusol Empire had taken a turn for the worse.

~~~

Chapter Thirty-Four

~

Pol

~

O ne of Traxus’s villagers walked into the house. “The tribal youth just marched south, ostensibly to the escarpment.”

Pol wondered if his seed had germinated, but even though they had settled on the next night to erase the runes, Pol felt that sooner was better.

“I’ll go tonight,” Pol said to Traxus.

“I’ll guard you,” Akil said.

Pol shook his head. “No, I will go alone. I’ve done it before.”

“Not in Kiria.”

“Kiria is only one of the steps I took to come from North Salvan to Axtopol. I’ll return tonight, and tomorrow morning the hornets will stir from their nest.”

Traxus sent all of his people out to prepare for three different scenarios that they all thought had the highest likelihood of happening. Some of them would not return to the house.

Pol wore black clothes picked up at the market. If he didn’t need to tweak invisibility, he wouldn’t. He had to save his strength for the unexpected.  He left the house after midnight and made his way to the Placement Bureau. He walked around the large building and found a rear entrance.

After checking the door for wards, he tweaked the lock and walked inside. His location sense told him that there were people upstairs, but they might be asleep.  His foray wouldn’t generate a sound, so he continued towards the large rooms where the boards were.

Pol tweaked the Bureau’s door open and looked into an empty room. The desks, chairs, and more importantly, the boards were gone. A few sheets of paper littered the floor. He just stood in the middle of the bureau office wondering what to do.

Had someone betrayed them? He had to guess that was the case. That wouldn’t stop him, but he would be up longer. One of their group worked for the Bureau. A spy placed in Traxus’s village had tried to foil their plans.

He used his locator sense again, and everyone in the building was on the second floor. If they moved within the building, their new quarters would be upstairs.

Pol tweaked invisibility. He slowly walked up the stairs. A stair began to creak as he stepped. He located the squeak and tweaked the wood together. He had to smile at the new application of that ability. At that point, he tweaked every tread and soon made his way up the stairs with his senses constantly surveying the upper floors.

He stood in front of a door, looking at light leaking out from its edges. Pol wouldn’t walk into a trap, so he continued. A window provided him with an exit. The building had a narrow ledge around the circumference of the building, so Pol stepped out and clung to the stone as he made his way back around the building.

A tiny bit of light leaked out of a window that had been blacked out. Pol scuttled back to the previous window and tweaked the lock open and slipped inside an office. Boxes were stacked on most of the floor. To save strength, he stopped being invisible.

Pol opened one of the boxes and found rune books. He waved his hand over each box and deactivated all the runes. A door led to the lighted room.  He was about to enter it, ready to fight his way out, when he noticed another door on the opposite side.

Could the lit room be a trap? Pol turned the door handle and stepped inside the dark room. More boxes were stacked. These contained paper records of gambling transactions. Pol was tempted to destroy the records, but what good would that do?

Along the opposite wall stood three boards. Pol smiled as he saw the glow of activated runes. He quickly deactivated all the runes and did the same to all of the boxes in the room. He would make sure nothing would be active.

He let the people in the lit room remain alert in the middle of the night. They weren’t even worth listening to. Pol was convinced they were all guards. He slipped back out on the edge and tweaked the lock shut. He found a column that he could use to descend to the ground below. His locator sense detected a pair of guards about to walk around the building’s edge.

Pol scurried in the opposite direction and found himself in the square. He quickly padded away. Now he had to warn Traxus that a traitor was in their midst. Pol entered the townhouse from the back.  He heard voices in the main room and found it filled with people.

He tweaked invisibility again and stood at the door listening.

“Any time now,” a guard said. “Your people will be caught trying to disrupt the Bureau.”

Traxus stood with his hands bound with rope. The magician had to know how to untwist his bonds. Pol slipped into the room and stood in their midst, hearing the guards boasting that they had stopped the revolution.

He heard a sound in the corner behind the guards and saw Gula’s sister standing with her arms folded. Her face was hard and emotionless. Pol looked at Gula’s face, filled with disappointment. The sister had betrayed them all.

Pol had heard enough and put her to sleep before he did the same with the guards. He appeared above the fallen forms.

Gula ran to her sister, but Pol stopped her. “She is fine. They will be out for a few hours. That will give us time to find another place to stay.”

“I was hoping you had killed her,” Gula said. Pol had expected concern, but anger distorted her face as she continued. “She told us she was a plant in the village from the beginning. She had spent ten years waiting for Traxus to make a move.”

“That can’t be helped now. There is a house that she doesn’t know about. We can transfer there,” Traxus said.

“The bureau won’t be doing any placement for awhile,” Pol said. “I got in and out without them knowing I entered.”

“A Seeker does incredible work,” Traxus said. He clapped his hands and grinned. “We can talk about it later. Let’s get our possessions moved.”

They spent the next two hours transferring to another house closer to the center of the capital.

“I rented this on my own yesterday,” Traxus said, “using a disguise.” He nodded to Pol. “Only Sura and I knew of this place. This was one of my personal contingencies.”

They sat on the floor of the unfurnished dwelling.

“So we wait for tomorrow?” Gula said, still looking angry about her sister’s betrayal. “I didn’t think she would be capable of such a thing.”

“We always suspected she was a plant,” Sura said. “Traxus made sure she never did have a vital role in our plans.”

“Tomorrow shall be very interesting,” Traxus said.

Pol could sense the anxiety in his voice.

~

Pol rose early to check on Demeron and the carthorse in the stable attached to this house.

“Be ready to leave,” Pol told Demeron. “The capital might turn into a madhouse as it dawns on them that they lost control of the tribes. If the city loses control and I can’t help Traxus any longer, we will leave.”

I agree. I make one request. Leave me and the carthorse untied. If we need to protect you, we can come to help.

“I will, my friend.” Pol ladled out grain to Demeron and the other horse and made sure they had enough water.

He walked back into the house as the others began to rise. Traxus and the others ate cold food on the boxes they had lugged all the way from the other house. Pol took a piece of unfamiliar fruit and tasted it.

“This is different,” Pol said. “Does it store well?”

Traxus nodded. “Are you thinking of export?”

“I’m thinking it gives Akil something to sell in Deftnis,” Pol said, smiling at his friend. “When we prevail in the next few days, all of us will confront a new realm of decisions.”

“And your decisions are made?” Akil said.

“They are,” Pol said. “I’m open to changing a few of the details, like taking a box of these and anything else that might be used to forge a more comprehensive trading relationship.”

“We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Traxus said. “We all know what we are to do. Gula’s sister knew so little of our plans other than the shutting down of the Placement Bureau that I have every confidence that our people in place will remain a secret. He wondered how much the magician shared with Akil.

A knock on the door startled everyone. Pol told Traxus there was only one person at the door. One of the villagers rushed in.

“I’ve located everyone. There are a lot of people going in and out of the Placement Bureau including the Clan Council,” he said. “There are rumors starting that Kirian magicians have invaded the city.”

“Good,” Traxus said. “Return to the others. Take Pol and Akil with you as far as the Hawk Clan compound.”

Pol armed himself with splinters, knives, and his old Shinkyan-style weapons. This time he wouldn’t forget to tweak a physical shield when needed. Pol changed his features and walked out the door, followed by Akil and the villager.

As they approached the center of the city, they didn’t notice anything unusual except for the people coming in and out of the Placement Bureau. Pol could imagine the shock in the morning when the Placement Bureau people came to set up the boards, and they didn’t work.

The villager left them. Pol and Akil stood among a growing number of citizens watching more Clan Lords enter into the Bureau and leave, shaking their heads and looking grim.

Akil shook Pol’s sleeve. “It is time to go.”

Pol nodded to his friend. “Stay close so I can protect you.”

They walked through the streets and saw a mix of panic and placidity, depending on how connected the citizens were. There were more guards in front of the Hawk Clan Compound.

“One last moment to back out, Akil.” Pol turned his back and returned, wearing his Shinkyan face.

The youngest son of Lord Boria shook his head. “If we wait, he will gain time to collect his wits, and I want to see him witless.”

Pol and Akil stepped up to the entrance.

“I’m here to see my father,” Akil said.

“You are alive?” the guard said.

Akil turned slowly around. “I believe so. Let me in.”

Pol restrained smiling and followed his friend in, but the guard stopped him. “I don’t know you.”

“And I don’t know you,” Pol said as he pulled out his hawk tile. “This is all you need to know.”

Akil stepped up to the guard. “Are you an idiot?” he said.

“I am sorry, young master. Enter.”

Akil led the way, but Pol remembered the short walk to Lord Boria’s office building. They walked into chaos. Lord Boria bent over, consulting with one of his employees. Two young men stood by his side. One of them casually looked Akil’s way.

“What are you doing here?” The brother looked shocked.

“I won my five victories. Brother, am I not entitled to return home?”

“It’s been weeks, months.” the brother said.

Boria stood up. “Akil?” he said. He turned around with his eyes round with surprise. “The Placement Bureau said you and your last opponents’ tribes killed each other.”

“You didn’t know?” Akil said.

“How could I have known? You didn’t answer any of our codes.”

“We ignored them.” Akil furrowed his brow and looked at Pol. “This isn’t turning out like I thought it would.”

Lord Boria chewed on his mouth for a moment. “How did you think this was going to turn out? All the bets are canceled. We are in crisis. The Placement Bureau captured Kirian magicians destroying the Game boards. It will take a few days to get the boards going again.”

Pol raised his eyebrows. “A few days? Is that what they said?”

Boria nodded. “A few days without games puts all the Clan Lords in peril. How else can we generate the flow of the funds that we need?”

“By doing honest work, by managing Axtopol, by stopping the needless slaughter out on the plains.”

“What would a Kirian understand?” Boria looked at Pol. “You are a Kirian?”

Pol smiled. “This face is not a Kirian face but a Shinkyan one,” Pol said. “I can say beyond doubt that the Placement Bureau is out of business. Once the runes on their boards were deactivated, they could no longer communicate with the tribes.”

“How did you know that? Not many know what happened.”

Pol checked his shields. The Zasosian pattern shifted, and a new one took its place.

“Let Akil and I tell you what happened on the plains. After you give me your reaction, then I’ll tell you how I know.”

Boria snorted. “What is keeping me from having you arrested?”

“Listen for a few minutes. You owe it to your son.”

Lord Boria took a seat and folded his arms. “Illuminate me,” he said.

Akil told them of their experience on the plains in detail.

The brothers’ eyes looked Pol over. “Who are you?” one of them said.

“My name is Pol Cissert Pastelle. I am an adopted son of the Emperor of Baccusol.”

“And what does that have to do anything?” Lord Boria said, and that made Pol laugh because it really did mean nothing to Akil’s father.

“What is your reaction to Akil’s story?”

The Clan Lord’s eyes swiveled towards his youngest son. “It means if the story is to be believed that the Placement Bureau has usurped control of Zasos and did so long ago.”

Boria looked away, and Pol saw the Clan Lord’s face concentrating, processing new, unwanted information.

“And the Placement Bureau ordered my death. The Placement Bureau just sent out an army of Zasosian youth to exterminate the tribes. Did you know that?”

“Now, of all times, a Kirian army is invading.” The Lord’s eyes turned back to Pol.

“You’ve been to the escarpment,” Pol said. He looked at Boria and his three sons. “Do you need an army to keep the Kirians from invading? I don’t think so. As to my origin,” Pol turned back into his own self. “This is what I truly look like.”

One of the sons pointed at Pol. “You’re the magician!”

“I am, and I deactivated the rune boards to protect thousands of nomads on the plains, relatives of every Clan Lord. The Placement Bureau runs Zasos, not the Clan Lord Council.”

“Impossible!” Lord Boria said.

“Do you have any say where the youth go after their training in Axtopol?”

“Why should I?” Boria said.

“Because you don’t have any idea what happens to your clan once they reach the plains. Hawks aren’t really Hawks. They are a collection of nomads that are assigned to the Hawk tribe and live out their lives, however short, that way.”

Boria shook his head. “The Placement Bureau says otherwise.”

Akil looked at Pol. “Astonishing. I can see it all now.” He turned to Lord Boria. “Father, don’t you see? They run the Games. They administer the army and the city guards. All you do is play your silly games without even realizing that men and woman are killed for capricious reasons.”

“They are not capricious. There are rules.”

“Rules?” Akil said. “Rules to keep the Placement Bureau in control of everything. Long ago they stopped all Zasosian progress. Do you know the East is filled with forests and rich lands?”

“The—”

“You haven’t been there? I thought the secret of the East was shared among the Clan Lords,” Akil said.

Boria turned red. “We know of rumors.” He looked at Pol. “Supposedly the magician you seek lives there.”

“Traxus?” Pol said. “He does, and Akil is right. The mountains block the runes, so the East has no interest to the Placement Bureau since they can’t control anything there.”

They could set up a satellite organization, but Pol could see that whoever ran the Placement Bureau didn’t have to do anything but rake a substantial percentage of the bets.

“Who heads the Placement Bureau?” Pol asked.

“There are three special councilors who are appointed by the Bureau. They manage the operations.”

Pol sighed. “Three leaders who are appointed by the Bureau means you have no idea who actually makes the real decisions.”

“That’s a possibility.” Boria put his head in his hands. “This is unbelievable.”

Pol shook his head. “No, it isn’t. It fits into a pattern.” The room was silent. “I would guess one or more of the people in this compound works for the Bureau. We had an informant in the East planted by the Bureau.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Boria said. He looked up at his sons, who looked stricken.

“What do you think you should do?” Pol said. The next tweak of the Zasos pattern rested on the Clan Lord’s reply.

Boria’s face reddened. “If what you say is true, the Great Game ends. The Clan Council needs to dissolve the Placement Bureau and those who run it.”

“Even if we find a clan or two are behind it?”

“Of course. But then what?”

“That’s up to you,” Pol said. “I’ve traveled the world and can give you options to consider, but I don’t have the answers.”

“But you can help me?”

“Not you, specifically, but I can help Zasos. You’ll have to change your role. If you want to remain Clan Lord, your job will be to help restructure your nation as a member of the Great Five.”

Boria grit his teeth and turned away. “I’ll discuss it with my sons, including Akil. He is the only one who can vouch for you.”

“Not just me. The magician in the East helped us. He has been thinking of what to do for quite some time. I’ll return tomorrow and wait for your answer. If you sit back and observe what the Placement Bureau does and says, I’m sure you will see what I have postulated is the truth.”

“Tomorrow then,” Boria said. He looked at Akil. “It’s time we had a family council.”

~~~

Chapter Thirty-Five

~

P ol’s meeting with Traxus was just as hard as his talk with Lord Boria.

“Impossible!” Traxus said.

Pol could see that the notion that the Clan Lords were dupes met with real resistance. “It’s a pattern that fits better. I always assumed the clans returned the warriors to the same tribes.”

“But they don’t,” Gula said. “I remember that when our training group went back out to the plains that we were randomly assigned.”

“Nearly so,” Pol said. “There are no pure clan tribes and probably haven’t been for centuries.”

“You are saying that I was fooled? I worked at the Bureau.”

“And when did you leave?”

“Sura and I were young. Early twenties.”

Pol thought for a bit. “Did you meet Sura at the Bureau?”

Traxus nodded. “Sura came directly from the plains to the Bureau to heal Council members. Someone,” Traxus waved his hand, “I can’t remember who, introduced us. It was just after I returned from my trip to Shinkya.”

“You were how old?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Where is Sura now?”

“Out buying furniture. Why?”

Pol found a new wrinkle in the pattern. “Gather some personal items. I think we will be moving again,” he said.

“I don’t have another house,” Traxus said.

Pol located a group walking faster than the crowds outside.

“Out the back.”

“Why?”

“The Placement Bureau knows where we are.”

“How?” Traxus said.

Pol looked at Traxus. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He didn’t want to give an explanation to Traxus. He could only say one word. “Sura.”

Traxus kept enough possessions ready in two bags. He tied the ends together and mounted the carthorse. Demeron was ready to go. Pol and Gula had ridden Demeron enough times that it only took them a moment to get ready. They were just mounting when the back door to the house opened, and guards flooded out. Sura looked at her husband with tears in her eyes and bit her lip as she pointed at Traxus.

~

Demeron led them out through the back alley. Pol confronted a squad of guards. He extended physical shields around the two horses, gasping at the power drain, but they ended up riding over the guards. A few arrow bolts bounced off their shields as Pol led them to the Hawk compound.

“Let me in,” Pol said. He produced the tile, and the device worked again. “There will be Placement Bureau guards heading this way. Be vigilant!”

They trotted into Lord Boria’s courtyard.

“Get Lord Boria!” Pol helped Gula and Traxus from their mounts.

Events had moved much too quickly for the older magician. He sat down on the ground and began to weep.

Akil ran out of the main house. “What happened?”

“A change of plans, that’s what,” Pol said. “Sura is the Placement Bureau’s primary plant.”

“What about Gula’s sister?”

“Two are better than one, and there might be more,” Traxus said, rising and brushing himself off, looking stricken. “I have much reflecting ahead.”

Boria walked up.

“Another Placement Bureau spy,” Pol said.

“This man?”

Pol shook his head. “His wife of many years. There was a reason the Placement Bureau never bothered with the East. They always knew it represented no threat because they always knew that Traxus had no real power until I showed up.”

“But my revolution?” the magician said.

“What’s this about a revolution?” Boria stared at Traxus.

“Let’s go inside and talk,” Pol said. “The Placement Bureau could soon surround the compound.”

“Impossible,” Boria said. He peered at Pol. “Not impossible, right?”

Pol pressed his lips together and nodded.

Boria gave the command to prepare to defend the compound. “I thought I’d be saying that to keep another clan from entering.”

“Let me know when they arrive,” Pol said. “I have a lot of tricks.”

“Magic tricks?” Boria said.

“And they are not nice.”

~

Traxus understood patterns well enough to finally accept the deviousness of the Bureau after Pol led the conversation about the common enemy.

“Magic consumed my thoughts when I was younger. I eagerly absorbed everything I could,” Traxus said. “I can see that Sura guided my decisions away from suspecting the Placement Bureau, and she reinforced my anger at the Clan Lords. She kept me from acting a number of times over the years.”

“We aren’t blameless,” Boria said. “I am ashamed of what I have become, but I can change. I must.”

Boria impressed Pol. The man was practical and decisive. He helped convince Traxus to help him figure out what to do.

As the two men talked while night fell, Pol recognized that the result that Traxus had desired consisted of re-orienting the Clan Council with rotating membership, and both men sketched out the beginnings of a future Zasos.

Demeron broke into Pol’s dreams. Invaders are all around the compound.

Pol sat upright and rubbed his eyes. He dressed and found that the message was just getting to the main house. People scurried all over the courtyard.

He ran to the gate and looked up at a guard on the ramparts.

“Have they made a demand yet?”

“Soon,” the guard said. “They are waiting for someone.”

Pol changed his hair color. He didn’t want to be a beacon in the dark with his white hair. After running up the stairs, he stared down at thirty or forty men milling about at the gate.

Boria called to Pol. “How many?”

“Forty or so. Make sure no one lets them in. At least two men at every door outside the compound.” He had been burned in Borstall by a single man opening the gate.

“What is it you want?” Pol said, his face lit up by torches.

“The magician, Traxus, and the Kirian,” a voice said from below.

“What about Lord Boria? What right do you have to make demands?”

“I represent the Placement Bureau,” the man said.

“Don’t they report to the Clan Council? Lord Boria is on the council. This disturbance is unseemly, happening at night in the middle of Axtopol,” Pol said. He looked down on his side of the gate and saw Lord Boria listening in.

“I don’t have orders to take Lord Boria, only the magician and the Kirian.”

“I will only negotiate with the head of the Placement Bureau,” Pol said.

“Who are you?”

“A friend of the Hawk Clan,” Pol said. Pol noticed Lord Boria nod his head. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about both sides attacking him.

Pol had intended intimidating them with his magic, but that only put the compound at risk. If the Bureau gave up a talent like Sura to spy on an obscure magician, there might be more powerful magicians to fight.

“You are the Kirian?” the voice said.

Pol reinforced his shield. “I am.”

A hail of arrows sped towards Pol. He tweaked a ward on his shield, and as the arrows hit, they bounced back at the same speed towards the archers, but the flights were disturbed by the collision against the shield, and the arrows cartwheeled into the guards causing little damage.

Pol had to smile at the improvisation. “That wasn’t very nice,” he said. He hadn’t wanted to expose his magic, but the arrows proved the guards weren’t going to keep Traxus or him safe. “Do you want to fight two magicians?” Pol said.

A few of the guards backed up. “Just come with us.”

“There obviously won’t be any ‘coming with us’ since your actions prove your words are lies,” Pol said. “Does this mean we are at war?”

He tweaked a wind and blew a few of the men into others. Torch fire scattered in the darkness, lighting tiny fires on the guards’ uniforms.

“Bring your leaders here, and I will talk to them. You can obviously see I am under the protection of Lord Boria.”

An arrow thudded against Pol’s rear shield. He heard a scuffle further back in the yard. Pol spotted Lord Boria rushing to the would-be assassin, who struggled as Lord Boria’s men subdued him.

“Leave now, or I will fly down and make you pay for your attack.” Pol climbed back down from the ramparts. Lord Boria’s guards cringed as he walked past. They must not have seen offensive magicians before, and Pol felt pretty offensive at that moment.

Pol joined Traxus and Boria watching the archer fight against other Hawk Clan guards.

“You shouldn’t be alive. My aim was true!” the guard said.

“A truth spell. We have no time for niceties,” Pol said. He once had qualms about using truth spells, but Pol’s perspective had changed. He clearly needed information quickly to minimize the bloodshed that was sure to come. Pol leaned over and touched the cringing archer’s forehead.

“Are you a member of the Hawk Clan?” Pol asked.

“I am.”

“Why did you try to kill me?”

“I am a spy for the Placement Bureau, and they told me that if they attacked to make sure you are dead.”

“What else have you told the Placement Bureau?” Pol asked.

“I was able to tell them that you and Akil d'Boria visited the Clan Lord.”

“Have you talked to the Placement Bureau since I returned?”

The man shook his head.

“Who else is spying for the Placement Bureau in the Hawk clan compound?”

The guard rattled off three names. Lord Boria dispatched guards to find the spies.

Pol returned to the ramparts, but the attackers had left. He told the guards to stay alert and rejoined Lord Boria.

“How long have the spies been working for you?” Pol asked.

“Some not so long. The woman has been a maid for thirty years.”

Pol added the spies to the Bureau’s pattern. “The Bureau probably has spies in every clan compound.”

“That is against the rules,” Boria said.

“What rules? Do you have more than what’s posted? Do you think the Bureau cares about any rules?” Pol said. “You know better than I do how the rules are manipulated. It looks like they are better at that than you are.”

Boria opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again. “I have an empty strong room. We will put the spies in there.”

“Why bother?” Pol said. “Just let them out the gate. Let the spies tell the Bureau that you know what’s been going on. You should also tell your fellow Clan Lords as well.”

“Gula and I have been working on that,” Traxus said. “We enlisted your gambling staff to get these written and addressed. We just added an extra part about spies in their midst. All you have to do is sign them. We also invited them to visit your compound.”

“All of them?” Boria looked a bit pained but then sighed. “Let’s get everyone informed.”

“Don’t tell the spies about the communication. We don’t want your workers harried while they inform the other Clan Lords,” Pol said.

Office workers left to deliver the letters and then return to their homes. Some would spend the rest of the evening delivering the messages. They opened the gates to let the workers out. Pol stood at the door to protect the departing men, but the entryway was unblocked. He beckoned the guards to take the spies out to the gate. Pol checked their bonds and tightened them up with a tweak.

“Go. Tell the Bureau that the Clan Lords will no longer tolerate their meddling in the affairs of Clan Lord Council.”

The door shut behind them. Pol ran up the stairs to watch the four spies walk slowly down the street towards the city center. He was sure they would be stopped by the Bureau before they walked very far.

The crowd of guards didn’t return in the evening. However, Boria put all his people on alert. Doors were checked. One was found to be unlocked, but the rest were already secured.

Pol lay down on a couch in Boria’s massive living room. Gula and Traxus had their own couches as well. They slept through the night.

Early in the morning, Clan Lords started to arrive to verify that Boria sent the letters. Pol, Traxus, and Akil sat in the lord’s conference room, providing their stories and answering questions.

Pol observed each Clan Lord for reactions to their stories, writing notes of every question and every significant gesture. By the time morning ended, thirty-two clan lords out of forty-one had shown up.

At noon, a large force of Zasosian guards surrounded Boria’s compound. A sentry returned with a count of two hundred fifty men.

Four clan lords were still in conference, but the arrival of the guards halted the meeting. Pol escorted them out the front gate.

“Leave now. If you wish to help us defend against the Bureau, you may surround the Bureau’s troops.”

“It’s not time for that now,” one of the clan lords said with a scowl.

“Thank you for listening to us.”

“I believe your story, but I’m not confident about us all fighting the Bureau.”

Pol nodded. “I appreciate your feelings, but if we fight the Bureau as one force, they will not win.”

The Lord nodded uncertainly and led the other men through the Bureau’s forces.

Pol, fully shielded, stood with his arms on his hips in front of the gate. “Did you bring your leader?”

“Why don’t you just give up? It will save a lot of effort and maybe a bit of blood.”

Pol looked at the uniformed man. “And you are?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am.”

Pol snorted. “It does if I’m to give myself up to you. Who do you represent? Zasos or the Placement Bureau?” Pol said in a loud voice. People were beginning to crowd around the armed men.

“Zasos!” the man said.

“Then why are you threatening a Clan Council member? We went over this last night. That doesn’t make sense. Lord Boria has done nothing wrong.”

“And you haven’t?”

Pol laughed loudly. “What have I done?”

“You destroyed the—”

“Shut up!” An older man dressed as a regular soldier said.

“Ah, one of the leaders.” Pol pointed to the man. “You, hiding behind a common guard uniform, why don’t you come forward and tell me why he,” Pol pointed to the officer, “should not say what I have done?”

“Should I tell the crowd?” Pol looked around him. “Do you all want to know?”

The crowd’s murmuring rose.

“They accuse me of sneaking into the Placement Bureau two nights ago and destroying their rune boards. They also accuse me of destroying all the rune books. What they don’t want you to know is that the Great Game has ended for now.”

“He lies!” the older man said.

“Who are you to say I lie?” Pol said. He pointed the finger at the older man. “He is one of the leaders of the Placement Bureau. He hides from view as all the Bureau leaders have while they rigged the Great Game. They have lost control of the tribes and sent the trainees out to fight their brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers. Most of you spent time in the plains. Does that sound like an honorable thing to do?”

Pol heard the crowd wondering if Pol spoke the truth. Lord Boria stood on the ramparts of his compound.

“He speaks the truth. The Great Game is suspended. I have spoken to the majority of Clan Lords, and we will meet tomorrow as a Grand Council of Clan Lords to discuss what to do.”

“Did he destroy the game boards?” the older man yelled out.

“He says he did,” Boria said. “What the young man doesn’t know is the Placement Bureau tried to trick us the morning after into thinking everything was all right, but we could tell it wasn’t. The Placement Bureau has no right to stand in front of my compound demanding anyone. It is the Clan Council’s prerogative to decide what to do with him.”

While everyone’s attention was on Lord Boria, Pol slipped inside the gate. He joined Boria above the gate and shielded them both.

“That man,” Pol pulled the older man from the crowd of guards with his power. “Do you know him?”

Lord Boria shook his head.

The man raised his arms and tweaked a stream of fire at Pol and Boria. Pol had to hold on to Boria to keep him from retreating.  The flames continued to splash against Pol’s shield until he pulled a splinter out of his pocket and tweaked it into the man’s heart.  The Bureau leader collapsed.

Pol let the guards pull the dead man back into the crowd.

Citizens, upset about the flame attack on a Clan Lord, began to jostle with the soldiers. Fights began to break out. Citizens began to throw things, at the soldiers. At that point, the swords came out.

The officer began to call back his men, but the melee had exploded out of control. Citizens were cut down by soldiers, who began to get more aggressive.

“We need to help them!” Pol said. He jumped from the rampart and tweaked a bag of air to cushion his impact while he pulled out his swords and began to attack the guards who were assaulting the crowd.

Pol refused to cut the men down from the back, so he had to use sips of magic to run to the front. He pulled the citizens aside as he fought the guards, yelling at them to stop their attacks.

He had to take care of some guards until they finally realized they needed to gang up on Pol.  There were too many for Pol to handle all at once. He shrunk his shield as close to his body as he could while he fought, but he had to keep backing up until he felt pressure pushing him towards the soldiers.

Yelling intensified behind him while Pol desperately fought for his life. His shield blunted the edges of the blades, but the blows began to rain on Pol to the extent that he had to put his hands over his head. He crouched down and concentrated on hardening his shield and preparing to tweak a blast of fire to end the assault when the pressure stopped.

Uniforms rushed past him until he could manage to stand. An army of young people fought the guards, who found they were too exposed. Most of the men threw their swords down and raised their hands.

“Are you all right?” a woman trainee asked.

“I’m bruised, but I’ll live,” Pol said. “You are the trainees? I watched you drill. What are you doing in Axtopol?” Pol already knew, and their presence buoyed up his spirits.

“Our leaders pulled us out of the city to fight a fictitious Kirian army. But they actually wanted us to discipline the tribes. Someone warned a group of us that might happen. We all decided to return to Axtopol.”

“You have trainee leaders?” Pol said.

“We do.”

“Let me talk to them after we’ve seen to the injuries.”

Gula ran out to Pol, carrying her medical bag. “I thought you were done for.”

“It’s as close to dying in battle as I’ve probably ever come,” Pol said. His shoulders, back, and upper arms screamed in pain. “Without my shields, they would have cut me to pieces.” Pol shook himself, glad that he didn’t have to resort to tweaking a massive blast of fire that would have caused too many casualties. “I can hurt another time. Right now there are a lot of people to help.”

Pol turned around and began assessing those closest to him. He didn’t care if they were soldiers for the Bureau or common people. He stopped the bleeding first. Gula became his assistant as he repaired the insides before Gula sewed wounds shut.

The Bureau officer had lost a lot of blood from a gash on his upper arm. Pol had to repair a few large blood vessels and joined muscles together. The gash would take Gula too long, so he tweaked the wound shut.

“Don’t use this for a week or so. The skin is still tender.”

The officer looked at the wound. “How did you do that?”

“Sura, Traxus’s wife, knows how to seal a wound, I would imagine.”

“You fight us, and then you help us,” the officer said. “Why?”

“I don’t fight you. You aren’t a leader. I imagine you are following orders. Am I right?”

Pol noticed the officer’s suspicious expression.

“I just want Zasos to become a real country. The Great Game has stifled your progress. Your country can develop into something much better than being run for the express purpose of keeping power and gaining money for the Placement Bureau. I was out on the plains. I’ve never seen a more manipulated group of people in my life. Where I am from, such a thing on a country-wide scale would be deemed illegal.”

“Where do you come from? You can’t be a Kirian and think like that.”

“I’m from the Empire. Tell your leaders that Zasos needs to change and all the people need to be given a chance.”

“I’ll do that. I didn’t expect to be nursed by my enemies.”

Pol smiled. “Good. That hasn’t happened yet since I am not, at present, your enemy. Just don’t pick up arms against me again. The Bureau leader in your ranks only died because he tried to kill Lord Boria and me.”

“I’ll remember that,” the officer said. He looked at the trainees  helping each other. “Maybe it’s time I adjusted my allegiance.”

Pol nodded. “I have others to treat.”

~~~

Chapter Thirty-Six

~

T he trainees took over defensive positions on the intersections close to Lord Boria’s compound. A few older men had accompanied the trainees back to Axtopol as their leaders. Pol met with them and the officer that he had treated in Lord Boria’s conference room.

Anything they said in the room Pol had to assume the officer would relay to the Bureau, and that was fine. The officer would give them more information than they would give him.

“Do you know which clans are closely tied into the Bureau?” Pol asked.

The officer shook his head. “I don’t know who, but I know there are three clans who jointly manage the bureau. They have taken precautions to remain anonymous.”

“The man who fought me was a leader, right?”

“I can tell you the names of the Bureau leadership. If you’ve been talking to all the Clan Lords, together they know one or two of three chief leaders, and then there are seven magicians under them. No, there are six magicians. One died today.”

He gave them the names. Lord Boria knew four of the names but hadn’t realized they were the top men at the Bureau, if the officer could be believed.

“Would you object to me questioning you under a truth spell? I promise I’ll only ask you questions about the Bureau’s organization.”

The officer looked wary. “Only if you do it.”

Pol agreed. The officer had told them the truth, and he also verified that Pol’s act of kindness and the obvious duplicity played on the trainees had changed his mind.

“All I ask is that you talk to others who might see things the way we do.”

“And exactly how do you see things, Lord Boria?”

The Clan Lord gave the officer a thorough glimpse of their plan to open up the Zasosian society.

“No more clan battles?” the officer said.

“Realistically, no more clan battles that are bet on. Peace among the tribes is something they will be responsible for,” Boria said.

Traxus nodded in agreement.

~

Pol looked over his notes. A few more Clan Lords showed up for interviews. Four more remained. He examined them for an overall pattern.

“From my analysis, these six clan lords would be suspect. We also have the few we haven’t identified. Now, who flaunts wealth or who has wealth, but doesn’t flaunt it?” Pol said.

Another Clan Lord showed up at the door to the conference room. Lord Boria invited him in. The man looked controlled, but Pol could tell he was roiling inside. He hadn’t seen a man so wrought up in all his interviews.

Pol took the man’s wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“You will answer my questions, right?”

The man nodded. “I will answer your questions.”

“Are you involved with the Placement Bureau?” Pol instantly realized that he had asked a poor question. “Do you know all of the Placement Bureau managers?”

“I do,” the Clan Lord said.

“Have you come here to spy on Lord Boria for the Placement Bureau?”

“I have.”

Pol took a deep breath. “Is your clan one of the three in collusion with the Placement Bureau?”

“We are.”

Boria slammed his fist on the table. “Tell us who else is involved!”

Pol held up his hand. “He will only respond to me.”

“What other clans are in intimate collusion with the Placement Bureau?”

The man named two other clans.

“Who are the top managers of the Placement Bureau and the six remaining lead magicians?”

The clan leader gave them the same list of names but added one more.

“What is Thoxil’s position within the Bureau?”

“He is our leader.”

“Where is this Thoxil?”

“He lives at the top of the Placement Bureau building.”

“Is he a powerful magician?”

The clan leader nodded. “He is the most powerful magician in Axtopol.”

Pol put the clan leader to sleep.

“I think we have enough for now. I will go back into the building tonight, and I’ll go all the way to the top.”

“But the man is dangerous,” Lord Boria said. “We can starve him out.”

“Even with the trainees, you don’t have enough men to fight those seven magicians,” Pol said.

“And you think you can take care of them all?” Traxus said. “Even Sura?”

Pol put his hand on Traxus’s shoulder. “I will do all I can to save her, Traxus.”

The magician nodded.

“I may need your help, but after I have taken care of Thoxil. Don’t worry about me.”

A nomad entering the room interrupted their conference. “I am from one of the Hawk tribes. There are thirty tribes heading for Axtopol. We were told that Pol was here.”

Pol stood up. “That’s me.”

The man smiled. “We have come to help you defeat the Placement Bureau. We bring twelve hundred fighting men and women, arriving within the next two days. Once we knew our sons and daughters were sent out to fight us, we could no longer stay in the plains when we learned you fought the Bureau alone in the capital.”

“Lord Boria, here, will help you get organized. There are trainee leaders who would love to accept your help.”

The Clan Lord chuckled. “Now we even outnumber the city guards. My fellow Clan Lords will have to contribute another five or six hundred fighting men.”

Pol didn’t feel like smiling. He had never relished the loss of life, but the Placement Bureau had to be destroyed one way or another. Tonight he would try to cut off the snake’s head.

~~~

Chapter Thirty-Seven

~

P ol’s aches and pains persisted until Gula gave him a potion to deaden his pain. He wished he could have tweaked away the painful damage. At least he was alive and with some time to recuperate, undamaged. He could ignore the pain as much as possible.

He looked out the window at the Hawk compound’s courtyard. Trainee warriors talked with guards. During the next few days, he imagined the space would be filled with Hawk tribes. Before then, Pol had to deal with Thoxil, if the man truly existed.

With hours left before he would enter the Placement Bureau again, Pol practiced sword forms to keep his protesting muscles limber.  Finally, darkness came, and the city began to sleep.

Pol crept over the estate’s wall and dropped to the pavement. He quickly invoked invisibility and padded across the open area in front of the Hawk compound and made his way towards the Placement Bureau. The Bureau supporters barricaded all the entrances into the central plaza in front of their building.

Soldiers littered the square, sleeping on blankets and struggling to keep warm by huddling around metal buckets holding fires. For a moment, Pol wondered who was under siege. With the barricades and the soldiers, it looked like the Bureau slept with the most fear in Axtopol. Pol would do his best to increase their anxiety.

He didn’t feel the cold. His pains began to fade into the background as he concentrated on seeking out the right pattern and the right resonance of the pattern that would help him gain entry to the heavily-guarded building.

He slipped into invisibility and threaded his way through sleeping figures to the building at the opposite end of the square. Guards were posted in the alley that Pol had used to exit the building when he destroyed the boards. He looked up at the drainpipe and shook his body to get loose before ascending. He passed the second level and transferred to a ledge that led him to a window.

Pol looked inside and spotted a stairwell. He tweaked the window lock and slipped in.  A short staircase led to another door covered with wards.

Thoxil had extra abilities if he constructed these wards. Pol paused to look them over. These looked the same as the wards that the Tesnan Abbot built to protect his office. Pol wondered if the magician Traxus met was from Tesna?

He washed that thought from his mind and began to manipulate the wards, pushing aside the strands of the weave so he could enter the room. Pol took a deep breath and looked past the door to the other side. Wards existed there, too. This door was built as a trap, never intended for use.

Working on wards from the other side of a wall took more energy, but Pol continued to work for another hour or so until the door was clear of any ward.

He pushed the door open only wide enough to permit him to enter a storage room. Pol had to smile, as the floor was covered with wards, as well. Who did Thoxil expect to invade his premises? Did Traxus have the ability to manipulate wards like these?

The floor wards looked a bit old and faded. Pol turned around and examined the weaves pushed back from the door frame. The ones on the inside were the brightest of all. A new installation, just for him, Pol thought.

Pol could push the floor wards aside with each step. He moved forward and pressed the latch on the next door slowly and winced at a tiny squeak.

After increasing the density of his shields, Pol slipped into a large, dark room of some kind. A few candles lit the interior, but Pol didn’t need them to detect the four guards asleep on couches. Pol reinforced their slumber with sleep spells and moved farther into the room. He found a few unoccupied bedrooms, but one was locked. A single figure was inside.

Pol tweaked the lock open and found the sleeping figure of a woman, bound with chains and gagged. He didn’t find any wards or people located close by, so he leaned over and recognized Sura’s face.

He kept the gag on and gently shook her awake.

Her eyes widened and looked frantically around. Pol shook his head. He had to do a better job of thinking if he was to survive the night. It must have been the pain potion that muddled his mind. He tweaked his invisibility off.

Sura relaxed a bit. Pol put his finger to his lips, and she nodded her head. He removed the gag and helped the woman sit up.

“Is Traxus all right?” she said, clearly agitated

Pol nodded. “He has never been in a any danger.”

Some of the tension went out of her body. “Thoxil said he wouldn’t harm Traxus if I turned him in, but then I overheard him give the order to kill the both of you. I objected and then…this.” She lifted the chains around her wrists.

“You’ve betrayed him for years, haven’t you?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded as her eyes filled with tears. “For so long I didn’t have to do anything. I only had to monitor my husband so that, if he made a move to return to Axtopol, I would be able to notify my brother.”

“Brother? Thoxil is your brother?”

Sura nodded. “It’s awful, isn’t it? He’s only the last in a long line of magicians that have run the Placement Bureau. I never thought Traxus would ever find enough people to follow him in stirring up a rebellion, but when you came along, everything changed.”

Pol nodded. “The rebellion is in full swing. The Placement Bureau’s domination of Axtopol is over. The tribal trainees have returned. They won’t be going out to kill their brothers again, and there are enough tribes returning to fight the forces at your brother’s disposal. You chose your brother.”

“Did I?” she lifted her wrists again. “He betrayed me, truly betrayed me. I threatened to fight him, but he put me to sleep, and I woke with chains on my wrists.”

Pol touched her forehead and saw a heavy film of mind-control.

“Did your brother ever visit Eastril?”

She nodded. “Before I met Traxus, he spent two years at one of your monasteries, but it wasn’t Deftnis.”

“Tesna Monastery?”

Her eyes squinted as they plied her memories. “I think that might be it.”

“He learned wards from the Tesnan monks well, but as far as I can tell, he didn’t share the rune concept with them.”

“Thoxil wouldn’t do such a thing. He is very closed.”

Pol could agree with that. Anyone who anonymously managed a countrywide organization would be.

“I’m going to have to fight him.”

“He knows that. I’m here as a hostage.”

Pol shook his head. “No longer. You are going to become a bit disoriented, but it will pass.” He removed the spell, and Sura began to wobble.

“It will go away.” He tweaked the locks off her wrists and ankles.

“You are more powerful than I thought,” Sura said, her voice filled with amazement.

“Can you stand?”

She rose but fell back to the bed. Pol helped her up again. “We are going to negotiate the next room. I will tweak invisibility that will cover both of us. If any of the men stir, just stay still. You must exercise patience.” They wouldn’t stir, but Sura wouldn’t know that.

Sura nodded and got to her feet again. “That’s better.”

He walked with her around the room again, and when her steps were sure, they stepped outside. He locked the door to the bedroom, and they slowly made their way to the storage room.

Pol looked at Sura a few times and could see the torture on her face trying to remain calm amidst her new enemies. They reached the storage room. Pol locked the door behind them.

“Do you see the wards?”

Sura shook her head. “No.”

“Stay close to me.” He held her as he shuffled back the wards and let them spread when they passed.

The door wards were still pulled back, but Pol located a single individual standing on the other side of the door. Only one person would wait for Pol to come through.

He put his lips close to Sura’s ear. “Thoxil is standing on the other side of the door. I want you to stay in this room.”

Pol removed the ward beside him and moved Sura to the side.  He laid a ward on the other half of the room and wove it over the other door, a ward that would put the soldiers to sleep if they touched it.

“Don’t go back to the other room. I’ve laid a sleeping ward to the other side. Take refuge in one of these corners.”

Now that Sura was out of the way, Pol opened the door. A short man, older than Sura or Traxus, looked at Pol with his arms folded.

Pol’s shields were in full force, both mental and physical.

“So you are Pol Cissert Pastelle, the Baccusol Emperor’s adopted son? You are impressively powerful. I didn’t think a magician on Daera could see my wards.”

“You mean these?” Pol waved his hand, and the wards disappeared.

Thoxil cleared his throat, but he showed no other weakness.

“If you surrender, I can assure a safe passage to Deftnis,” the magician said.

Of course, he would know everything Pol told to Sura and Traxus.

“I am Pol, and you must be Thoxil, the head of the Placement Bureau.”

The man nodded, a move filled with knowing and arrogance. “You think you could stop me with your tricks?”

“I did. The Great Game is over.”

“Not so fast. It is temporarily suspended.” He looked past Pol. “Sura, you can come out now.”

Pol looked into the opposite corner where Sura stood. “Don’t come out. He still wants to use you as a hostage.”

Sura looked afraid, but she stayed huddled in the corner.

“Sura?” Thoxil looked alarmed. “I thought you could remove her bonds.”

“You could listen in?”

“Of course.”

He could hear sounds, but obviously not what they said. “She is still there. I couldn’t quite remove the chains. I couldn’t risk waking the guards.”

“But I can.” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Guards! It’s time to wake up and come to the stairwell.”

Pol heard a guard wiggle the lock to the storage room door. His sleep spell must not have worked on one of the guards. The man poked his head through the door and stepped inside the room, triggering a ward. He fell face first onto the floor.

“You remade the wards?” Thoxil’s eyes went wide.

“I did,” Pol said. “The others are still asleep.”

“As you will be,” Thoxil threw a spell at Pol, but it didn’t work.

Pol stood there as the man cast spell after spell. He felt a slight headache as mind-control spells hit his shields. He even fought through the pressure of Thoxil trying to subdue him with a compulsion spell. He had to rub his forehead after that one.

“You will kneel,” Thoxil said, thinking he had succeeded.

“I am sorry, Sura,” Pol said as he pulled out a splinter and sent it into the heart of the Placement Bureau’s former leader.

Thoxil gasped as he clutched his heart. “You, you monster!”

“You are the monster,” Pol said as he watched Thoxil collapse to the floor.

Sura peeked around the door.

“Thoxil!” She ran to his side and could only hold his hand while the man took a final gasp and died. Sura looked up at Pol. “You placed something in his heart?”

Pol nodded and pulled out a splinter. “One of these. He received a much easier death than he deserved.”

“Thank you,” Sura said. “He made it so I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Mind-control,” Pol said. “He had put a mind-control spell on you. That is why you betrayed your husband.”

“I love Traxus. I really do.”

“And he will continue to do the same, once I explain what your brother did to you.”

Pol looked down at the body and pulled it into the storage room. He sealed the door shut to the stairwell.

“I’m going to take us out of the building,” Pol said. “Be prepared to be astonished.”

He opened the window and tweaked a bag of air. Sura refused to step outside, but Pol convinced her it was safe by stepping on the air platform first and helping her step onto it.

“I did this once before, but I’m a bit stronger now,” Pol said.

He locked the window again and tweaked enough wind to get them going. They floated above the slumbering soldiers and past the barricades and set them down in the middle of a deserted street.

“Amazing,” she said.

Pol put his hands on his knees to keep from falling. “That is still a power-drainer.” He stood there for a few moments. “You may have to help me a bit.”

He gave Sura a grin. He chided himself for too much hubris again. He wondered what would happen in the morning. No one else knew about wards, Pol suspected, so it would be a mystery how Thoxil died a bloodless death in a locked storage room along with a sleeping soldier.

They strolled down the street, helping each other make it to the Hawk compound.

“It’s Pol.”

The door opened. “You are to see Lord Boria in his conference room when you return,” the guard said.

The pair of them picked their way through the slumbering bodies of nomads and entered the main house. Boria sat in his chair, snoring amidst some guttering candles.

“I’ve returned,” Pol said.

Boria started. “What?” He rubbed his eyes and looked at Pol, and then he noticed Sura standing a bit behind Pol. “Who is she?”

“Let me introduce you to Sura, Traxus’s wife.”

“Sura?” Traxus got up from blankets spread on the floor in a dark corner of the room.

She ran to her husband. “Thoxil put a mind-control spell on me. That’s what Pol said.”

Pol could see that Traxus hoped for confirmation. “I removed it. I’ve seen too many of those kinds of spells before. Thoxil learned all about them when he spent some time at Tesna Monastery.”

“Mind-control,” Traxus said. “I couldn’t bear to think you had betrayed me.” He hugged his wife, “You are better?”

“Somewhat,” Sura said. “It’s not easy to see your brother killed, but it had to be done.”

“You succeeded?” Boria said.

“I did. Thoxil had defenses that none of you would have been able to see. Wards. The wards that you were prohibited from using.” Pol said. “I have to go back to the Placement Bureau now that Sura’s safe. Many of the soldiers might be impressed to attack tomorrow, and we need to disabuse them of the notion.”

Boria’s eyes were bloodshot.  He waved his hand and got to his feet. “Disabuse away. Now I can go to bed and get a proper sleep.”

Pol gave Traxus and Sura a little wave and went back to work.

~

An expanded Clan Council met in Lord Boria’s administration building. The desks used by his employees had been cleared out, and thirty-eight of the forty Clan Lords assembled.

Pol spoke of Thoxil and how the Great Games were manipulated and had been that way for over a thousand years. He spoke of the Empire, and as an Imperial Prince, he would do what he could to establish relations with a much different Zasos.

Lord Boria took over and talked about his proposal for a new Zasos with an Eastern sector and a Western sector. Traxus revealed the Placement Bureau’s lies about the East. Gula came forward and presented their vision for the plains and how the tribes would now grow and prosper. Cities could be built on the land as long as the plains remained for tribes to continue their endless wandering.

The clan lords were shocked by the developments, but as Lord Boria told them that like a youth who had his time to play, they all had to become adults. He lamented that he had been complicit in many needless deaths, but he would change his ways.

It was all Pol had to hear. He joined the tribes getting ready to move on the Placement Bureau. When they reached the square, the soldiers milled about. Their leaders huddled in a group of twenty or thirty by the steps leading up to the building.

Pol climbed over a barricade. The soldiers let him through.

“The conflict is over. Go home,” Pol said. “The Placement Bureau is no more. Thoxil, your leader, is dead. The Clan Lords are meeting right now, deciding on how to administer a new Zasos.”

“You were the one at the Boria estate,” one of the officers said. “You convinced Biril to come to your side.”

Pol took a deep breath. “We are all on one side, now. The tribes don’t want to fight you, but they will if they must. It’s time for me to meet with the remaining magicians. Go inside and bring them out here.”

Seven men and six women trudged out of the Placement Bureau. Gula’s sister walked out with them.

“You killed Thoxil?” one of them asked.

Pol didn’t reply, but he quickly removed the mind-control that plagued every one of them.

“You did something to us?” one of the women said, holding her forehead.

“I removed the mind-control that Thoxil had been using to manage the Bureau. If you don’t change your lives, you will not survive the changes that are about to take place.”

One of the men looked like he had just woken up. “You killed one of us. You should pay for that.”

“I didn’t attack him, he attacked me. It’s time to work with the Clan Lords to build a better Zasos. The rune books can be used for communication. You can talk to Traxus and the Hawk healer Gula about what we did. There are plenty of things you can do to work on turning Zasos into a real country. Let the people inside the Bureau know that they can use their expertise in something other than creating misery on the plains.”

Pol put his back to them. He fingered a splinter and adjusted his shields as he did so. A stream of fire pushed at his back. He turned and saw the woman magician who assaulted him. She collapsed to the ground. Pol looked at her die with sadness. He looked at the astonished magicians’ faces. “She didn’t have to attack.”

~~~

Chapter Thirty-Eight

~

Shira

~

T hey rode a bit faster than they would have with the large column, and finally Shira smelled the ocean. They would follow the shoreline all the way to Deftnis, and that lifted Shira’s heart as she looked forward to seeing old friends, especially Ako, who had started to teach at the Mancus Abbey.

“We are getting closer?” Karo said.

Paki nodded. “When we are real close you will see Deftnis. It’s a big island; you can’t miss it.”

“I hope it’s worth the wait,” Karo said.

Shira laughed. “It depends on what you’ve been waiting for.” She let her mind drift as they rode and knew she would have problems thinking that Pol was just around a corner or that he was out with Demeron and would return with a face chapped from the wind. She sighed, and the trip that she had looked forward to took on more of a bittersweet aspect.

A day later, they stopped at a newly-constructed border crossing.

“You are new,” Paki said, looking at the guard.

The older man smiled. “Not particularly. I’ve been around for forty-two years, last count. What is your business?” His eyes drifted to Shira and Karo and then to the twenty soldiers in dirty Imperial uniforms.

Paki pulled out his Deftnis symbol. “We’re headed to Deftnis.”

“Wait,” the guard retreated into the post building and returned with a list.

“Shira Graceful Willow?”

Shira nodded. “That’s my name, more or less.”

“I’m to send a bird to the monastery when you pass. I hope you don’t mind. Those are the orders of the Duke of Sand and the Abbot of Deftnis.”

“Feel free,” Shira said.

“Have a wonderful stay in the Duchy of Sand.” He saluted and waved them past.

A few moments later, a bird fluttered over their heads, flying over the water towards the northwest.

“We can expect a welcoming committee,” Paki said. “I hope that means some good meals.”

“If you don’t like them in Deftnis, you can always got to Port Mancus.”

Paki grinned. “There is that.”

She looked at Paki and realized that he hadn’t changed much in four years. He was a touch taller, his face had turned leaner, and she had to admit it, he was more handsome, but he still acted just like the Paki she had first met at Borstall.

~

Deftnis Isle looked majestic. Shira hadn’t seen the Isle from the side before. As they rode around the big shallow bay that Finster, Sand, and the other duchies shared, Shira’s melancholy faded with increased excitement. Amble expressed her excitement, too.

Riders met them outside of Port Mancus. Fadden and Jonness rode their Shinkyan horses.

“I have incredible news,” Fadden said. “Pol has recovered his memories. He is alive in the Daeran country of Zasos and has the means to return to Deftnis once his affairs are settled.”

“How long have you known?”

“We sent birds to Redearth, but you had left.”

Captain Corior probably received the message that would have banished all melancholy from the trip. He had taken all the birds back with him to Pol’s duchy.

“What does he have to do in Zasos that prevents his return to the Empire?”

“A revolution of some sort. Our contact in Zasos didn’t send all the details. If he has his fingers in saving a country, I’d say our Pol is back,” Jonness said.

Shira lost her sight due to the flood of tears. She turned away to wipe her face and took a few deep breaths. “My return is propitious,” she said, hardly able to get the words out. She turned to Fadden and changed the subject to something that didn’t touch her so emotionally. “I’d like to see Ako again.” Fadden just nodded, and Shira couldn’t resist asking, “Your contact did say Pol was all right?”

Fadden grinned. “He did.”

On their way into Port Mancus, the wind picked up, and dark clouds blew in from the west.

“A storm. We best not be out in the boat,” Fadden said. “Abbess Anna will take you in. Paki can stay at the inn, and the soldiers can stay in the dormitory at the Deftnis stables.”

Amble was glad to be under cover when the drops began to plop on the Port Mancus pavement. Shira took the time to groom her inside the Deftnis stable.

You are very happy, and I am, too. If Pol retained his memories, then he will return to the monastery and bring Demeron with him. I would like to talk to Demeron again. He will have good stories to tell, Amble said.

“Good stories,” Shira said with a smile fixed on her face.

The rain let up, so Shira made her way to the Abbey. Ako sat on the covered porch of the large house. Shira noticed a few other buildings close by, built since Shira had left the monastery.

“Shira,” Ako said. “Fadden told you that Pol will return?”

Tears came again to Shira when Ako nodded.

Ako’s face beamed. “Your Great Ancestor has returned,” she said.

“He has. It appears that Fate hasn’t finished with him.” Shira wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming as Ako led her into the Abbey’s parlor.

Shira looked out at the slice of ocean visible from the room’s window. The sky was still dark, and the wind-whipped waves made her shiver. Pol might be on a ship in that storm. She hoped it would serve to blow Pol closer to Deftnis, which was where she’d stay until Pol returned.

~

After waiting out another day of rough weather, they finally made it across the water on the horse barge with much calmer waters. Amble left the stable to join the Shinkyan herd as soon as Shira removed the saddle and bags that she had brought to Deftnis. An acolyte helped carry her bags to the administration building.

“Welcome,” Abbot Pleagor said. “For your safety, we thought you should stay on the Isle. We don’t expect a full-scale invasion again. We always have two ships in the harbor at all times, and there are now real harbor defenses. You’ll be staying in the apartments you shared with Ako.”

Four years ago, they left Deftnis worried about pursuit by Grostin. Now King Grostin had accumulated more thugs. She wondered why the Emperor had let him do such a thing, but then he did send troops to help her in Redearth. Hazett hadn’t helped anyone else in South Salvan. Fadden told her that was because Pol was his adopted son. She was glad for the help, for the troops helped preserve Redearth for Pol’s return.

Shira looked across the hall to the other apartment. Pol had stayed there. They hadn’t spent much time in Deftnis, but the monastery still held memories, not all of them pleasant.

Pol’s magic tutor, Vactor, knocked on the open door. “Do you need more time, or would you like to meet with Jonness, Searl, and me in the Abbot’s study?”

Shira had already freshened up before tackling the few things in her bags. “If you don’t mind my traveling clothes. That’s all I have. I planned on buying a few new things in Mancus.”

“I don’t mind. We have information to share, I think.”

Shira walked into the Abbot’s study and sat between Vactor and Jonness. Searl rushed in after and turned one of the upholstered chairs by the fire towards the group.

“Why don’t you tell us what’s happened in the last four years, but please, don’t take four years to tell us,” Abbot Pleagor said. The Abbot looked about ready for retirement, but his smile took years off his face.

Shira told them as quickly as she could. All of them asked a question or two while she gave them a history. She ended with a request for magicians and healers for South Salvan.

“All the old tricks from before, bubbling up in our faces again,” the Abbott said. “I tell you this in confidence; there are four similar uprisings in the Empire. Daftine, West Huffnya, Waring, which is a neighbor to Baccusol and Yastan, and North Salvan. Hazett was ready to act until Pol resurfaced. He wanted his son back.”

“How did you find out Pol had retained his memories?”

Vactor grinned at the Abbot. “I think Malden might have notified you that we have a contact on Daera. He’s a magician that left the capital and set up a village on the east side of the mountain range that splits a plateau. The country on the plateau is called Zasos. One-quarter is the eastern part separated from the west by a mountain range. The rest consists of a vast grassland.”

“Pol made his way from Kiria to Zasos and lived in the grassland for awhile before discovering our magician friend. There are political matters that are alluded to, but the magician is powerful enough to have removed the ward the Shinkyans used to occlude Pol’s memories.”

“He retained all his old memories?”

“Yes.” Vactor looked at the Abbot. “Unimpaired is what Traxus said.”

The Abbot nodded.

Shira fidgeted with her hands. “How old is this information?”

“Weeks,” Searl said from behind her. “For all we know Pol could be on his way here. When we received the message, we turned one of our ships around to be ready at Zasos to bring Pol back. We communicate by bird.”

“And Pol intends on returning?” Shira said. She looked from magician to magician.

They all nodded.

“It seems Daera isn’t insular without reason. The Kirians do not like Shinkyans. Kirians aren’t liked by the Zasosians and Imperials…hardly any Imperials have ever visited Zasos. It seems to be a peculiar country. Traxus visited us sometime after you left. There are Clan Lords that spend all their time betting on tribal wars on the plains. The country hasn’t ever really progressed from being a nobles’ playground. That’s why he left the western part and sought refuge in the East. We’ve been doing a little trading with Traxus, and he is interested in doing more.”

Shira smiled, still breathless that Pol might soon show up at the Isle. “Deftnis Trading,” she said.

“You saw the warehouses on your way to the monastery. It’s already happening. We are thinking of expanding our scope to teach trading skills.”

“Kell might return if you do that,” Shira said.

“We’ve already talked to him,” the Abbot said.

“Whatever happened to Handor?”

Searl pulled his chair closer. “He recovered nicely. He won’t ever be termed robust, but the boy left Deftnis as a true Crown Prince. Pol doesn’t need to worry about the boy collapsing.”

That brought a smile to Shira’s face. “I’m sure he’ll be wondering the same thing while he’s sailing back here.” Shira had talked enough. She rose. “Can I get something to eat?”

“Our next stop. We will escort you to the commissary.”

~~~

Chapter Thirty-Nine

~

Pol

~

A kil and Gula stood next to Pol, now out of disguise, as a small group of people looked at the ship waiting at the dock. Demeron had already been boarded and taken below decks.

“You will always be remembered as a great liberator,” Traxus said to Pol.

Sura gave her husband a one-armed hug. “I’ll always remember you as the one who saved our marriage. We may be older, but I always wanted to live with him.” She poked Traxus in the stomach. “Now we can, unfettered.”

Pol thought that to be a good word. “I’m as happy for that as for giving Zasos a chance to become a productive country.”

“Give my thanks to whoever bumped you on the head,” Traxus said. “I’ll be seeing you—”

“Be seeing us,” Sura said.

“Yes, we will both see you in Deftnis. I can’t let Akil do all the trading. He’ll take care of Western Zasos, that’s for sure.”

Akil laughed. “You know me better than that.”

Traxus narrowed his eyes. “Do I?”

The group’s good nature cooled.

“I am kidding. Kidding!” Traxus said.

The captain called down for Gula, Akil, and Pol to board.

With some final hugs, Pol took a deep breath and climbed up the gangplank. He looked up at the deep-blue flag with the Deftnis symbol flapping in the wind.

“Three weeks,” the captain said as he eased the ship out of the dock.

“I can’t believe it,” he said to the Captain. “I was in Daera for four years. I missed a lot of birthdays.”

“Yes, My Prince,” the man said.

“I’ll have to get used to that again,” Pol said. He had always hated being called ‘My Prince,’ but this time it sounded really good to Pol’s ears.

My Prince, Demeron said in Pol’s mind from below-decks.

~~~

Chapter Forty

~

Shira

~

S hira was in her third week at the monastery and seriously thought of returning to Redearth, disappointed that no new messages had come from Daera. She wandered around the monastery, thinking about what she should do, when an acolyte found her walking among the Shinkyan horses with Amble at her side.

“A bird has arrived with news of Pol.”

“Good news?”

The acolyte blushed. “I don’t know.”

Shira jumped up on Amble and rode her bareback to the administration building.

“Pol is on a ship. He should be here in a day or two,” the Abbot said.

The news made Shira’s knees wobble. She sat down. “Really? I can’t believe it.”

She ran to her apartments and began to examine the six dresses that she had bought. Which one would Pol like the best?

Ako arrived later in the day with a bag. “I’ll bet you could use a friend right now, so I’m moving in for a few days.”

Shira alternated between happiness and worry. It had been four years. She knew she had changed, but she didn’t know how. Pol had certainly changed after his adventures on Daera. The Scorpions had more faith in Pol than she did. Although she had never lost hope, Karo told her that the Scorpions were certain Pol would return.

Had they grown apart, grown out of their love? She began to worry.

“Shira, you aren’t concentrating.”

“I still haven’t come to a conclusion about the dress I should wear.”

Ako laughed. “I like the bright yellow. There, your decision is made. How do you feel about it all?”

Shira and Ako talked about their memories of Pol and what to tell him about Redearth. That night Shira could barely sleep. She kept reminding herself that the Abbott had said a day or two. With ships, days could turn into weeks, Ako told her.

“What if he doesn’t like me or has forgotten me?” Shira said. She didn’t believe it, but she grasped at anything that could go wrong. She had never felt so flustered, so worried, and so anxious for what the next day would hold.

“He lost his memories,” Ako said. “He didn’t lose his mind. His memories returned, and those memories include you as the biggest part of his life at the time the Scorpions put him on Daera.”

Shira was up before the day began. She put some cosmetics on and spied the black horse Pol had given her. She snatched it up and put it in her pocket. Her cloak covered up her yellow dress, and her mood matched the weather as she nervously walked back and forth in the misty courtyard. Later in the morning, the fog lifted, and the Abbot received another message. The ship would dock in the afternoon.

~~~

Chapter Forty-One

~

Pol

~

“Deftnis ahead!” a sailor said to Pol.

They both clutched the line near the top of the tallest mast.

Pol searched through the misty sea and spotted the isle. They had followed the southern coast of Eastril for a day. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Pol wanted to mount Demeron and head for Shinkya to rescue Shira, but now he considered heading to Yastan first to report to the Emperor and renew his position as an Imperial Prince.

Traxus had given him what sketchy information he had. A few birds acknowledged joy in his prospective return to Deftnis. Regardless of his lack of a future at the monastery, he regarded the monastery as his home. He fought back tears as he thought of the four long years since he had left Deftnis Isle to take Shira back to Tishiko.

So much had happened, and Pol’s memories had deserted him for most of that time. But his life on Daera remained crystal clear in his mind. He hoped Paki and Fadden were there to meet him. He had the little amber-colored horse in his pocket. He touched it and thought about seeing Shira in mere weeks.

We are in sight of the Isle, Pol said to Demeron.

Four years is a long time for a horse, Demeron said, but I’m as excited as a colt!

The island grew, and finally, they approached the port. Four large docks now sat in a line along an expanded harbor at Deftnis Port. The little village had turned into a town while they had been gone. New warehouses extended along one side of a new harbor.

A crowd of people waited for them to dock. Pol searched the faces and found an unexpected one in a bright, yellow dress. He felt his heart nearly burst and grinned as he slithered down a line and was the first off the ship.

He debarked to cheers, but he paid them no heed as he walked straight to Shira. She ran into his arms.

“I never thought you were dead,” Shira said, almost out of breath. She pulled out the black horse. “See? You were always with me.”

He gazed at her tear-filled eyes. “I never thought of you until my memories returned,” he said, “and then I never forgot you.” He hugged her. She felt so good beneath his arms. He looked into her eyes, scarcely believing what he felt. He bent down. He was much taller than her now, and that surprised him for the briefest of moments until his lips found hers.

~~~~

Please leave a review wherever you purchased this book.  Follow the final adventures of Pol Cissert in the seventh and last book in the Disinherited Prince series, The Fractured Empire. An excerpt follows.

An Excerpt From

The Fractured Empire

The seventh and final book of The Disinherited Prince Series

~

Nothing happened over the pass. Either brigands were gone from the area, or the nearly forty in Malden’s party intimidated any would-be outlaws.

By the time they reached the capital of the Duchy of Terafin, Pol had told his story and answered endless questions. Akonai even made use of Pol as an interpreter and asked Akil a number of questions about the Zasosan culture.

Malden commandeered an inn on the outskirts of the city, and the entire contingent filled the common room of the inn, all soldiers included.

There would be no chance for a midnight rendezvous with Shira the inn filled. Pol, Fadden, and Akil took a three-bed room. Perhaps Pol could spend more time with Shira the next day.

He did, but Malden and Akonai rode with them. Shira received the treatment Pol had the previous day. The pair of them extracted more information about her efforts in South Salvan than Pol had, but then he wasn’t building a pattern of her activities. He found himself doing that as the two men talked to Shira.

They stopped in the capital of Galistya where Malden had already arranged for an inn on his way to Deftnis from Yastan. Shira and Pol were able to slip away from the common room where the soldiers drank.

“I didn’t quite appreciate how much you were involved in South Salvan,” Pol said. “You were a strength to Queen Isa.”

Shira smiled. “I’m not the only one who doesn’t like to appear boastful. I didn’t tell them anything different than I told you.”

“No, just more of it. I can see why Malden is to take Ranno’s place. He has developed excellent interrogation skills.”

“You could do as well if you weren’t blinded by my radiant beauty,” Shira said.

“There is that,” Pol said smiling. “Would you like to take a stroll?”

“Only if you are fully armed and shielded.” Shira’s eyes told him that she spoke in all seriousness.

“I’ll be right back.” He ran up to his room and returned fully armed for a casual night’s stroll in the capital of Galistya.

“That’s better. Not as soft, but it isn’t your softness that appeals right now.” Shira took his arm and they strolled out into the night air. Pol had done this before and they had always learned something from their evening walks in strange cities.

Crowds passed them as they proceeded down the paved street. They retreated to sidewalks when available. As they walked they didn’t speak. Pol enjoyed holding Shira’s hand, still thrilled they had reunited in Deftnis.

They heard voices ahead.

“What’s that?” Shira said.

“Maybe a burial service,” Pol said. They had once intruded on a nighttime funeral in a city on Volia.

The street became crowded with people and torches. Six men stood on boxes on the sidewalk.

“This is a meeting of some sort,” Shira said.

Pol heard angry words. People were shouting at the six men and at each other.

“That’s treason,” a man in the crowd shouted. “We don’t go for revolution around here.”

“We aren’t calling for revolution,” one of the men said.

Pol pushed his way to the front. “Shields,” he said in Shira’s ear.

She nodded as Pol looked up at the men.

“What are you calling for, then?” Pol said. “I just arrived and would like to know.”

“We represent the Winnow Society and we seek a better Empire. People need to know the government can give them more.”

“More what?” Pol said.

“More,” the man said.

Pol felt the pressure of mind control in his head.

“More foolish talk from rebels?” he said. He looked at each man and found the magician.

“I said we aren’t traitors to Baccusol.”

“Are you traitors to Hazett III?”

“That is another matter.”

That was all Pol needed to know. He froze all men. They were immobile while Pol joined the stiff figures and stood at an empty spot between one of the boxes. He tweaked the mind control away from the crowd.

“These men spread sedition around the Empire. Pay them no heed. What they want is for you to trade a benevolent Hazett III for a not-so-benevolent rule by this Winnow Society, whoever they are. Go home and we will take care of these men.”

Pol looked out into the crowd and spotted Fadden who must have been following. Pol put each man to sleep.

Someone in the crowd muttered the word ‘magician’, but Pol didn’t care. Once the men were laid out, he was about to wake one up and interrogate him.

“Don’t,” Shira said. “These men might be warded. You have to remove the wards first before you can administer a truth spell or they will die.”

“Something you learned at the borders?”

Shira nodded.

Fadden made his way to them. “I’ll run and get Malden and some soldiers.”

“For once, I’m glad there is a chaperone.” Pol said.

He stood with Shira looking over the men. Their clothes didn’t quite match the Galistyan citizens. He went through the pockets of the magician and then he unclasped an amulet threaded through a chain around the man’s neck.

“A symbol of the Winnow Society?”

“I’ve never seen one of those before.”

Pol looked at an outline of a pentagram with a scythe attached. “Nasty. It looks like they want to cut a bloody swath through the Empire.”

“Nothing good,” Shira said. Ten soldiers arrived, accompanied by Malden and Akonai.

“You can disburse,” Malden said. “We are removing these men.”

They took the Winnow Society members to the stableyard of the inn and put them side-by-side on the dirt. Torches lit their faces.

Pol looked into their skulls and found three thin rows of amber-colored wards. He waved his hand and watched them break apart and dissipate. The magician jerked quickly, but remained asleep.

“What happened?” Akonai said.

“They were spreading mind control while they were introducing them to the treasonous concepts of the Winnow Society. I haven’t heard of that organization,” Pol said.

Malden looked at Akonai with concern and then back at Pol. “Remember when you were last in Yastan? We said that there had to be magicians behind Namion Threshell and his protection ward? The culprits were the Winnow Society. We will talk more of it on the road.”

“Grostin is working with this society? That’s all I’ll ask tonight.”

“Undoubtedly,” Malden said. “We will keep them asleep and wake them on our journey.”

Pol checked them for more wards, but found nothing significant. Only the one man wore the necklace that now rested in Pol’s pocket after he made sure the amulet held no wards.

Shira and he walked inside the inn and found a secluded corner in the lobby. “The wards and the influence of magicians is the same, isn’t it?”

Shira nodded. “I didn’t know their name until tonight either, but I knew renegade magicians were fighting for Grostin.”

Pol thought for a minute. “Or they are using Grostin. Like Honna, he wouldn’t need to be controlled to support what they’ve done so far. This is sedition.”

Shira nodded. “Much worse than the factions have ever done in Shinkya. They play games, but this is no game, it’s an act of war.”

~~~

A BIT ABOUT GUY

~

With a lifelong passion for speculative fiction, Guy Antibes found that he rather enjoyed writing fantasy as well as reading it. So a career was born and Guy anxiously engaged in adding his own flavor of writing to the world. Guy lives in the western part of the United States and is happily married with enough children to meet or exceed the human replacement rate.

You can contact Guy at his website:  www.guyantibes.com.

†

BOOKS BY GUY ANTIBES

THE DISINHERITED PRINCE

Book One: The Disinherited Prince

Poldon Fairfield, a fourteen-year-old prince, has no desire to rule since his poor health has convinced him that he will not live long enough to sit on any throne. Matters take a turn for the worse when his father, the King of North Salvan, decides his oldest will rule the country where Pol’s mother is first in the line of succession followed by Pol, her only child. Pol learns he has developed a talent for magic, and that may do him more harm than good, as he must struggle to survive among his siblings, now turned lethally hostile.

Book Two: The Monk’s Habit

With his health failing, Pol Cissert takes refuge in a monastery dedicated to magic, healing, and swordsmanship. As a disinherited prince, he thinks his troubles are behind him, so he can concentrate on learning magic and getting his body repaired. He soon finds that his sanctuary isn’t the protection he hoped for.

Book Three: A Sip of Magic

Expecting to resume his studies after a long absence, Pol Cissert is disappointed when he is drafted by the Emperor’s Seeker to infiltrate into Tesna Monastery. His mission is to verify rumors of a new army being raised by the South Salvan King, a man he perceives as a personal enemy. Pol will face new challenges, not the least of which will be figuring out the mysterious roommate that arrives no long after he learns about the Tesnan’s plans to take over the world.

Book Four: The Sleeping God

Carrying an amulet given to him by his late mother, Pol Cissert seizes on an opportunity to travel to a far off city in search of his roots. He has no idea that the journey is no easy jaunt. Chased by magicians, thugs, pirates, and priests, he seeks his legacy by seeking the Cathedral of the Sleeping God. Pol finds that the truth isn’t always something everyone wants.

Demeron: A Horse’s Tale  - A Disinherited Prince Novella

Demeron, a Shinkyan stallion who can speak to human magicians, is cut off from his master and must find a way to return hundreds of miles to Deftnis Monastery, his master’s home. To do so, Demeron must travel through the country of his birth, eluding humans who would eagerly take possession of him. Sixty pages long, Demeron, A Horse’s Tale is best read between A Sip of Magic and The Emperor’s Pet.

Book Five: The Emperor’s Pet

On his way to return Shira to her home in Shinkya, Pol Cissert is called upon to solve two mysteries. His reward is something he has no desire for, but he must put that aside while he travels to Tishiko, the exotic and dangerous capital city of the country of Shira’s birth. He finds that deadly politics badgers him every step along his journey.

FANTASY - EPIC / SWORD & SORCERY / YOUNG ADULT

~

POWER OF POSES

Book One: Magician in Training

Trak Bluntwithe, an illiterate stableboy, is bequeathed an education by an estranged uncle. In the process of learning his letters, Trak finds out that he is a magician. So his adventures begin that will take him to foreign countries, fleeing from his home country, who seeks to execute him for the crime of being able to perform magic. The problem is that no country is safe for the boy while he undergoes training. Can he stay ahead of those who want to control him or keep his enemies from killing him?

Book Two: Magician in Exile

Trak Bluntwithe is a young man possessing so much magical power that he is a target for governments. Some want to control him and others want to eliminate the threat of his potential. He finds himself embroiled in the middle of a civil war. He must fight in order to save his imprisoned father, yet he finds that he has little taste for warfare. Trak carries this conflict onto the battlefield and finds he must use his abilities to stop the war in order to protect the ones he loves.

Book Three: Magician in Captivity

After a disastrous reunion with Valanna Almond, Trak heads to the mysterious land of Bennin to rescue a Toryan princess sold into slavery. The Warish King sends Valanna back to Pestle to verify that the King of Pestle is no longer under Warish control. The Vashtan menace continues to infect the countries of the world and embroil both Trak and Valanna in civil conflict, while neither of them can shake off the attraction both of them feel towards each other.

Book Four: Magician in Battle

Trak quells the rebellion in Warish, but is forced to leave to return the Toryan princess. He reunites with his father, but is quickly separated again. Circumstances turn ugly in Torya, and Trak returns to Pestle to fight a new, unexpected army. Valanna’s story continues as she struggles with her new circumstances, and is sent on a final mission to Pestle. The Power of Poses series ends with a massive battle, pitting soldier against soldier and magic against magic.

FANTASY - EPIC / SWORD & SORCERY / YOUNG ADULT / NEW ADULT-COLLEGE

~

THE WARSTONE QUARTET

An ancient emperor creates four magical gems to take over and rule the entire world. The ancient empire crumbles and over millennia. Three stones are lost and one remains as an inert symbol for a single kingdom among many. The force that created the Warstones, now awakened, seeks to unite them all, bringing in a new reign of world domination—a rule of terror.

Four Warstones, four stories. The Warstone Quartet tells of heroism, magic, romance and war as the world must rise to fight the dark force that would enslave them all.

FANTASY - SWORD & SORCERY/EPIC

Book One: Moonstone | Magic That Binds

A jewel, found in the muck of a small village pond, transforms Lotto, the village fool, into an eager young man who is now linked to a princess through the Moonstone. The princess fights against the link while Lotto seeks to learn more about what happened to him. He finds a legacy and she finds the home in her father’s army that she has so desperately sought. As Lotto finds aptitude in magical and physical power, a dark force has risen from another land to sow the seeds of rebellion. It’s up to Lotto to save the princess and the kingdom amidst stunning betrayal fomented by the foreign enemy.

Book Two: Sunstone | Dishonor’s Bane

Shiro, a simple farmer, is discovered to possess stunning magical power and is involuntarily drafted into the Ropponi Sorcerer’s Guild. He attracts more enemies than friends and escapes with his life only to end up on a remote prison island. He flees with an enchanted sword containing the lost Sunstone. Trying to create a simple refuge for an outlawed band of women sorcerers, he is betrayed by the very women he has worked to save and exiled to a foreign land. There, he must battle for his freedom as he and his band become embroiled in a continent-wide conflict.

Book Three: Bloodstone | Power of Youth

When usurpers invade Foxhome Castle, Unca, the aging Court Wizard of the Red Kingdom, flees with the murdered king’s only daughter, taking the Bloodstone, an ancient amulet that is the symbol of Red Kingdom rule. Unca uses the Bloodstone to escape capture by an enemy and is transformed into a young man, but loses all of his wizardly powers. Unca must reinvent himself in order to return the princess to her throne. Along the way he falls in love with the young woman and must deal with the conflict between his duty and his heart, while keeping a terrible secret.

Book Four: Darkstone | An Evil Reborn

As the 22nd son of the Emperor of Dakkor, Vishan Daryaku grows from boy to man, learning that he must use his unique powers and prodigious knowledge to survive. He succeeds until his body is taken over by an evil power locked inside of the Darkstone. Now Emperor of Dakkor, Vishan is trapped inside, as the ancient force that rules his body devastates his homeland while attempting to recover all of the Warstones.

As the amulets are all exposed, the holders of the Moonstone, Sunstone, and Bloodstone combine to fight the Emperor’s relentless drive to reunite the Warstones and gain power over the entire world. The armies of Dakkor and the forces of those allied with the three other stones collide on a dead continent in the stunning conclusion of the Warstone Quartet.

~

Quest of the Wizardess

Quest of the Wizardess chronicles the travels and travails of young Bellia. After her wizard family is assassinated when she is fourteen, Bellia seeks anonymity as a blacksmith’s helper. When that doesn’t work out as expected, she flees to the army.

Her extraordinary physical and magical skills bring unwanted attention and she must escape again. After finding a too-placid refuge, she takes the opportunity to seek out her family’s killers. Revenge becomes her quest that takes her to a lost temple, unexpected alliances and a harrowing confrontation with her enemies.

FANTASY - EPIC/NEW ADULT-COLLEGE/COMING OF AGE

The Power Bearer

How Norra obtained the power and the extraordinary lengths she went through to rid herself of it.

What’s a girl to do when all of the wizards in her world are after her? She runs. But this girl runs towards the source of her power, not away from it. Along the way she picks up, among others, a wizard, a ghost, a highwaywoman and a sentient cloud. Through thick and thin, they help Norra towards her goal of finding a solution in a far off land that no one in her world has even heard of.

FANTASY - EPIC / YOUNG ADULT

Panix: Magician Spy

Panix has life by the tail. A new wife, a new job in a new land that has few magicians and none of his caliber. His ideal life takes some unexpected downturns and Panix finds himself employed as a spy. He has no training, but must make things up as he goes if he is to survive the politics, betrayal, war and, at the end, his own behavior.

FANTASY - ADVENTURE

THE WORLD OF THE SWORD OF SPELLS

Warrior Mage

The gods gave Brull a Sword of Spells and proclaimed him as the world’s only Warrior Mage. One big problem, there aren’t any wars. What’s a guy to do? Brull becomes a magician bounty hunter until the big day when he learns he not only has to fight a war with the magicians of his world, but fight the god that the magicians are all working to bring into being. He finds out if he has what it takes in Warrior Mage.

FANTASY - EPIC

Sword of Spells

Read about Brull’s beginnings and earlier adventures as a bounty hunter of magicians in the Sword of Spells anthology.

FANTASY - EPIC

THE SARA FEATHERWOOD ADVENTURES

Set in Shattuk Downs, a reclusive land in the kingdom of Parthy. Sara Featherwood could be a Jane Austen heroine with a sword in her hand. There are no magicians, wizards, dragons, elves or dwarves in Shattuk Downs, but there is intrigue, nobility, hidden secrets, plenty of adventure and romance with a bit of magic.

FANTASY ~ YOUNG ADULT/COLLEGE

FICTION ~ WOMEN’S ADVENTURE

Knife & Flame

When Sara Featherwood’s mother dies, her sixteen-year-old life is thrown into turmoil at Brightlings Manor in a remote district of Shattuk Downs. Life becomes worse when her father, the Squire, sets his roving eye on her best friend. Dreading her new life, Sara escapes to the Obridge Women’s School. Seeking solace in education doesn’t work as her world becomes embroiled with spies, revolution, and to top it all off, her best friend becomes her worst enemy.

Sword & Flame

If you were a young woman who had just saved the family’s estate from ruin, you’d think your father would be proud, wouldn’t you? Sara Featherwood is thrown out of her childhood home and now faces life on her own terms at age seventeen. She returns to the Tarrey Abbey Women’s School and is drafted to help with the establishment of the first Women’s College in the kingdom of Parthy. Now in the King’s capital of Parth, life confronts Sara as she learns about family secrets, which threaten to disrupt her life and about resurgent political turmoil back home that turns her scholarly pursuits upside down as she must take action and use her magic to save her family and her beloved Shattuk Downs.

Guns & Flame

At nineteen, Sara Featherwood has done all she can to help establish the first Women’s College in the kingdom of Parthy. That includes a pact with the kingdom’s Interior Minister, to go on a student exchange program as payment for eliminating opposition to the college. Little does Sara know that her trip to a rival country is not what it seems and as the secrets of the true purpose of her trip unravel, she utilizes her magic to escape through hostile territory with vital secrets, but as she does, she finds herself drawn back to Shattuk Downs and must confront awful truths about those close to her.

~

Hand of Grethia

A nuclear cataclysm pushed Grethia, a remote planet, into a dark age. A religion emerged to suppress technology by calling it sacred, holy and not for the world.

A king broke the control of the priesthood in his kingdom and began to bring crude technology back to life.

A young man, his space ship sabotaged, finds himself marooned on Grethia. Through insight, courage and luck, he struggles with the static forces of the status quo and, together with the king, defeats the enemies of progress. His conflicts don’t end as he finds a way off the planet and confronts those who want to end his very existence and destroy the planet’s hard-won independence.

The Hand of Grethia takes the reader from a Galactic civilization of space ships and high technology to the dark ages and back in an exciting space opera adventure.

SCIENCE FICTION – SPACE OPERA

THE GUY ANTIBES ANTHOLOGIES

The Alien Hand

An ancient artifact changes a young woman’s life forever. A glutton gladiator is marooned in a hostile desert. An investigator searches for magic on a ravaged world and finds something quite unexpected. A boy yearns for a special toy. A recent graduate has invented a unique tool for espionage. A member of a survey team must work with his ex-girlfriend in extremely dangerous circumstances. A doctor is exiled among the worst creatures he can imagine.

SCIENCE FICTION

The Purple Flames

A reject from a Magical Academy finds purpose. A detective works on a reservation in New Mexico, except the reservation is for ghouls, demons, ghosts, zombies, and the paranormal. A succubus hunts out the last known nest of vampires on earth. The grisly story about the origins of Tonsil Tommy. In a post-apocalyptic world, two mutants find out about themselves when their lives are in imminent peril.

STEAMPUNK & PARANORMAL FANTASY with a tinge of HORROR

Angel in Bronze

A statue comes to life and must come to terms with her sudden humanity. A wizard attempts to destroy a seven-hundred-year-old curse. A boy is appalled by the truth of his parents’ midnight disappearances. A captain’s coat is much more than it seems. A healer must decide if the maxim that he has held to his entire career is still valid. A fisherman must deal with the aftermath of the destruction of his village.

FANTASY

~~~

Guy Antibes books are available at book retailers in print and e-book formats