Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Page 26

  He took the bundle from her hands. “Tell your mistress thank you.” The young woman blushed and bobbed her head.

  Caleb turned away, barely giving notice to the girl. “Here,” he said, handing the bundle to Nierne. “You can change over there.” He waved at the door to his right. “And hurry, I want to get a head start.”

  Nierne narrowed her eyes but didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned around and hurried toward the door. The door slammed behind her.

  What had he done now? Caleb sighed and turned toward his horse. He murmured softly to the mare as he waited.

  A couple of minutes later, the door opened. Nierne hesitated in the doorway, then walked out. She wore a simple white tunic tucked into beige leggings that hugged her waist and flowed down around her legs like a split skirt. Soft-skinned boots had replaced the sandals on her feet. She looked at Caleb and held up a long white linen scarf. “I’m not sure what to do with this.”

  Caleb left the horse and held out his hand toward Nierne. “Here.”

  Nierne handed him the scarf. He took a step closer. She kept her face riveted to his chest. His whole body tightened. He placed the scarf over her head and slowly wrapped one end around her neck, letting the other end hang loose over her shoulder. She looked up, her eyes full and dark.

  He sucked in a breath and took a step back. The faster he got to Azar, the better. “The scarf will help keep the sun off your face and head.”

  “I see.” Nierne picked up the end of the scarf and studied it. “That makes sense.”

  Caleb watched Nierne. The woman had no idea, no clue, the effect she had on him. Any other woman he knew would have picked up on his desire and would have invited more. But not her. Did she even realize he was a man?

  He returned to the horse and started fastening his pack behind the saddle. He actually found her innocence…refreshing. And frustrating. Sands, what was he thinking?

  “Thank you.”

  He swerved around.

  She gave him a small smile, her first one ever, and held up the end of the scarf.

  Caleb let out his breath and smiled back. “You’re welcome.” The tension inside him slowly drained away. “Now, we have a long ride ahead of us, so we’d better get going.”

  Just then the stable boy brought out another horse, a sleek grey one, saddled and ready.

  “Good.” Caleb took the reins from the stable boy. The boy bowed and backed away. “Do you need help getting up?” Caleb asked.

  “No, I can handle this.” Nierne went toward the left side of the horse.

  Satisfied, Caleb went back to his own horse. He shoved his boot into the stirrup and heaved himself up onto the horse. He settled in the saddle and turned… and almost laughed when he saw her trying to get on her horse. He bit his cheek and kept the guffaw to himself. She was right: She wasn’t much of a rider. She could hardly get on the horse. After another attempt, she finally made it onto the saddle.

  Caleb gave her a moment longer to settle then brought his horse around. “Ready?”

  Nierne looked at him, her face red, her body rigid, almost daring him to say something. She gathered up the reins. “Yes.”

  Caleb nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. “Then let’s go.”

  24

  Lore stared at the walls of Azar. Even from a hundred feet away, they towered over him, twice as tall as the White City’s and thick enough that two horses could side by side cross the top. The walls were the shade of burnt ember, tinted by the rising desert sun.

  The double gates reached almost as high as the walls and were made from thick dark wood. On either side of the gates were horns. Each started at the top of the wall, narrow and barely visible, their sides thickening as they neared the ground. Each horn ended in a round opening big enough for a child to sit in, but thankfully too high for a child to reach.

  Not that it stopped the children below from trying to climb up into the horns.

  Along with the dozen children playing below the horns, there were hundreds of people gathered outside the gates: merchants, travelers, and families. Goats bleated, wagons with white canvas tops maneuvered between tents, dogs yapped and ran between the crowds.

  Everyone seemed to be waiting for the gates to open.

  Lore stared at Azar. Nothing he had read about the desert city compared to seeing the capital of Temanin for the first time. It was easily three to four times larger than the White City, and that was only what he could see. He wondered how far back into the hills the city went.

  The morning sun climbed higher into the sky. The air grew warmer, and sweat broke out along his face and back. A soft breeze brought the smell of dung, animal, and spices. Children laughed and shouted to each other across the crowd.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Farien came to stand beside Lore, a touch of pride in his voice. His two bodyguards stood a couple of feet away. “Oldest city in the Lands. Wait until you see inside. Anything a man could wish for can be found in Azar. Silk cloth from the islands, spices from Hont, beautiful women…”

  Lore nodded in a daze. He could understand now why Azar was called the Jewel of the Desert. Farien was right: Nothing compared to the ancient city. Its size alone made him feel like a grain of sand on the desert floor. How would he find Rowen in such a place?

  A long low tone blared across the desert. The children below the horns scrambled away toward their families. Wagons and herds shifted toward the gates. A crack formed vertically between the wooden doors. The horns blew again.

  “It is time.” Farien started toward the gates on foot, his two bodyguards following.

  A steady hum filled the air as the masses streamed forward. Lore fought to stay with Farien. He dodged wagons and camels, and sidestepped a pile of animal refuse. The sun steadily rose, and the air grew hotter by the minute. Its rays seeped through the white linen shirt and scarf Lore wore until his entire body radiated with heat. He hoped the ointment Farien had given him would keep his skin from crisping in the desert sun. The closer they drew to the gates, the more the people pressed on either side of him, like a living river of humanity. The stream surged through the gateway, tightly packed.

  Lore reached the gates and looked up. He could see the archway high above him. To his right and left were the gates, their hinges larger than his fist. He doubted the catapult that had taken out the White City’s gates could even put a dent in these. He shook his head and moved on.

  Once inside, the people spread out again. Lore found Farien on the other side of a wagon in front of him. Buildings lined both sides of the wide, dirt street, and were three, four, even fives stories tall. Brightly colored tents stood in front of the buildings. Merchants rushed to their booths with their laden donkeys, carts, and what they carried on their backs. Moments later, their voices filled the air, joining the cacophony.

  Children weaved through the crowded streets. One rushed in front of Lore. He scarcely stopped before crashing down on the little one.

  Farien looked back. “Magnificent.” he said when Lore caught up. “One can feel alive in such a place.”

  Lore wasn’t so sure. He missed the stillness of the ancient trees in Anwin or the quiet of a snowy winter’s morning in the White City. The hustle and bustle of Azar was almost too much for him.

  They continued along the main road. A couple of people stopped to look at Lore. He drew his scarf closer around his face, but he knew that his sea eyes, sand-colored hair, and lighter skin marked him as a foreigner. More people turned his direction and watched him walk by.

  “Interesting,” Farien said, passing a group of men bartering over bolts of red and purple cloth. “You seem to be attracting a lot of attention.” He looked at Lore from the corner of his eye. “I would dare say many of the nobles here would pay a high price for a manservant like you: green eyes, muscular build, light hair—”

  Lore shot him a dark look. “I don’t believe any man should own another. And if you do anything to make me suspect you are planning to double-cross me, I will
—”

  “I won’t.” Farien flicked his hand in a casual manner. “I don’t do business in the slave trade. Only information.”

  Farien turned and led Lore and his two bodyguards down a more narrow but just as congested street. The sun tried to peek through the tall buildings, but Lore found himself more in shadow than in sunlight. Men and women called out their wares from booths covered in canvas.

  Farien turned halfway down the street and entered a small doorway. Lore and the other men followed.

  Inside was a long room filled with small tables. Earth tone tiles covered the floor, and the walls were light beige. Tall, narrow windows lined the wall to the left and gave a view of the street. Three men sat around a table next to the nearest window, drinking from tiny ceramic cups hardly big enough to hold a couple of sips of whatever was inside.

  Farien moved toward the back and sat down at a table next to a doorway. Long strands of wooden beads hung vertically and acted as a door to the room beyond. Lore went and stood in the corner, right behind Farien. For now, Farien wanted him to remain conspicuous, and the best way to do that was to act as a manservant. The role wasn’t much different than that of a varor, he realized. Lore clasped his hands behind his back and wondered what this place was and why Farien had brought him here.

  The beads inside the doorway rustled, and a young woman appeared. Her hair was long and dark, and it was pulled back into a braid that hung down to her waist. She wore a coarse, blue tunic and strange, dark pants that looked more like a skirt. The woman saw them and walked over. She stopped and bowed toward Farien. “How may the House of Saul serve you today?”

  Farien looked up. “A cup of black. And tell your master that Farien Selk would like to speak to him.”

  The woman bowed again and disappeared in the doorway. Lore looked around as he waited. One of Farien’s guards had positioned himself near the outer door. The other came to stand beside Lore.

  The beads rustled, and out stepped a rotund, dark-skinned man. Bright robes of green, red, and blue stretched tightly across his broad torso. His head was shaved, and he wore a gold hoop in one ear. He looked at Farien and smiled, his teeth a brilliant white. “Farien Selk,” he said a low, deep voice.

  Farien turned around. “Ah, Saul.” He stood and stretched out his arms. “It has been a long time.”

  Saul clasped Farien’s forearms, his hands the size of ham hocks. “What brings you to the House of Saul?” His voice rumbled like thunder.

  “Information, always information,” Farien said. Saul raised an eyebrow at Farien, who nodded deeply. “And yes, I’m paying well.”

  Saul gestured toward the chairs. “Then let us sit and discuss ‘information.’” He laughed like it was a joke.

  Farien chuckled too and sat down.

  Saul took a seat across from him, the chair groaning beneath his weight. He looked around, noting Farien’s two men, then noticed Lore. “New manservant?” he said with interest.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Farien replied.

  Saul looked Lore up and down, his gaze lingering on Lore’s face. “Hmph. Avonain. Not my type of slave. They dry up in the desert heat.”

  “He’s not for sale,” Farien said, his voice more serious.

  The young woman with the long dark braid entered the room holding a small plate and ceramic cup. Lore could see small wisps of steam rising from the black liquid inside. She placed the cup and saucer in front of Farien, bowed, and backed away.

  “So Farien, my friend,” Saul said, “what kind of information are you seeking that you would personally come all the way to Azar? You tend to be more of a desert rat, hanging about in that compound of yours.”

  Farien lifted the small cup and sniffed inside. “I’ve heard rumors.” He took a sip of the steamy black liquid. “Rumors of a Miracle Healer. Mirelukahn.”

  Saul folded his hands across his stomach. “Drake’s woman, you mean.”

  Lore’s body went rigid. Now he understood why Farien had brought him here. Lore wanted to start asking Saul himself about Rowen, but he held back. Farien needed to be the one who asked the questions, not him. It was Farien that Saul knew. Still, the desire to know Rowen’s whereabouts and condition burned in his chest.

  “Yes, Drake’s woman.” Farien placed his cup back down on the small plate. “I want to know where to find her.”

  “Why? Are you sick?” Saul’s eyes narrowed, and he looked intently at Farien.

  “No, but my manservant is.”

  Lore glanced at Farien from the corner of his eye. Good ploy.

  Saul looked over at Lore. “The man looks healthy to me.”

  “Sickness of a different sort,” Farien said and took another sip.

  “Drake charges a lot of gold for the healings. And they’re real.” Saul leaned across the table, his girth spreading over the wooden top. “Saw Sherard myself. Leprosy gone. No more bandages around his face. But—” Saul sat back and brought his hands up— “is the gold worth spending on a slave?” He shot Lore another look.

  Farien placed his cup down. “That is for me to decide. All I want to know is, can you connect me to Drake?”

  Saul began to tap the table with one, thick finger and studied Farien. “Yes,” he said finally. “I can set up a meeting.”

  “Good.” Farien finished his drink and put the cup down with a clink. “How soon?”

  “Today,” Saul said. “But first, the gold.”

  Farien drew out a small silk pouch and poured a couple of coins out onto the table. “Half now, half when we arrive at Drake’s.”

  “Deal.” Saul swiped the table and slid the gold into his other hand. Then he stood. “I will contact Drake now. If you like, feel free to stay here and enjoy another cup of black, compliments of the house.”

  Farien lifted his empty cup. “That I will, my friend.”

  • • •

  Lore stared at the dingy two-story building Saul’s servant had led them to. Rough burlap cloth hung across the bottom windows. A single, narrow wooden door stood in the middle of the building. The street on which the building stood was barely ten feet across. It was as though whoever had built this part of Azar had wanted to fit in as many buildings as possible within a couple of blocks.

  Lore wondered how people could live in such close quarters. And the smell… He fought the desire to cover his nose. The putrid smell of something rotten mingled with the scent of sewage and smoke. And the hot breeze, instead of brushing the smell away, stirred it up into a swirl of noxious fumes. Could Rowen be here? In this place of squalor?

  He saw her face again, on the balcony the morning before she’d left. The morning when he’d told her good-bye and had almost kissed her. Her long, pale hair. Her bright blue eyes. The smoothness of her skin and neck. Yes, she was worth traveling all this way for, and not just for her physical beauty, although that was what had first triggered his affection. She understood him, and he understood her. They connected on a level beyond the physical. He yearned for that connection again.

  Farien seemed oblivious to the stench as he walked up to the door and knocked. His two bodyguards waited a couple of feet away, along with Saul’s servant.

  Moments later, the door opened a crack.

  “What do you want?” a gruff voice said.

  “I am here to speak to Drake Delos. Saul sent word that I would be coming.”

  Lore came to stand beside Farien. There was shuffling behind the door, then a short man with spiky black hair and a long scar across his left cheek stepped outside. His eyes caught Lore’s attention: a swirl of deep blue and green. Sea eyes. Just like his.

  Lore subtly reached for the sword hidden beneath his tunic and robe. The feel of the hilt reassured him. He dropped his hand and looked at Drake with quiet determination. One way or another, Rowen would be leaving today.

  Drake crossed his arms and scowled. “Farien Selk.”

  “Drake Delos.” There was a hard edge to Farien’s voice that surprised Lore. Perhaps there
was more between Farien and Drake than he had realized. “I am here to see your Miracle Healer. May we come inside?”

  Drake glanced at Farien’s bodyguards. “Your men stay out here.”

  Farien motioned toward Lore. “This one comes with me.”

  Drake turned and looked him up and down. A faint look of recognition crossed his face, but he only grunted and said, “fine.”

  Drake turned and walked inside. Farien dismissed Saul’s servant, then headed into the building. Lore followed. The hallway was dark and narrow. Drake led them past a door and entered the second one on the right. Lore’s heart beat faster. Was Rowen in there?

  The room was small, with large deep green sitting pillows lined along the walls. A scarlet round rug sat in the middle of the room. One window graced the far wall. Burlap covers filtered the sunshine coming from the outside. In the corner stood a low table with a jar. Wisps of white smoke trailed upward from the jar, filling the small room with a sickly sweet scent.

  Lore looked around again. The room was empty except for Drake and Farien. Disappointment swelled in his chest. If Drake had done anything to her, Lore was going to have a hard time restraining himself.

  Drake lowered himself onto the closest pillow and motioned for Farien to do the same. Lore stayed by the door.

  Drake turned and studied Lore. “A fine Avonain manservant you have there. Where did you find him?”

  Farien folded his hands around one knee. “I didn’t find him. He came to me.”

  “Oh?” Drake raised an eyebrow.

  “And he’s not my manservant. He is here to purchase your Miracle Healer. And I’m here to negotiate the deal.”

  Lore stared down at Drake.

  Drake looked at Farien, then back at Lore and laughed. “That’s why you’re here? I’m afraid that it’s not that simple. Or cheap.” He grew more serious. “There are very few men who would have enough gold to purchase the woman.”

  “I know. That’s why I have this.” Farien brought out Lore’s pouch and jingled it.