Return of the Exile

2 Lanther’s Chosen

While Linsha dripped her way below deck, the Tarmaks furled the sails, drew in the oars, and guided the ship alongside a long pier where a crowd waited in the rain for their arrival. Drums beat a welcome from nearby ships and signal horns sounded across the harbor.

In her small cabin beneath the bridge, Linsha listened to the noise above and wondered how long it would be before the Tarmaks dragged the women out to be paraded with the crates of steel, gold, jewels, and other precious items stolen from Iyesta’s hoard. Anticipating sooner rather than later, she packed their few belongings then wrapped Callista in a blanket and urged the young woman to drink a little water.

The courtesan lifted drooping eyelids. Although she was accompanying Linsha as her serving maid, she had been seasick most of the voyage, and Linsha spent most of the time caring for her. Not that it mattered to Linsha. She had never had a maid, lady-in-waiting, serving wench, or even a cleaning woman in her life. Nor had she wanted one. But this seemed the only way to protect Callista from being included in the tribute of female slaves Lanther had brought for the Tarmak emperor. Lanther, who once favored Callista, had agreed to the arrangement.

Callista’s wan face turned even paler when she saw what Linsha was doing. “We’re there, aren’t we?” she said softly.

“Yes,” Linsha said. “Tied at the pier if I am not mistaken. Solid ground.”

While Linsha finished the meager packing, the courtesan pulled her blanket closer and sat up, swinging her feet over the side of the bunk. Perhaps the mention of land gave her strength, or perhaps the cessation of the wild roll and pitch of the ship helped, for she drank some water, ate a few crackers, and staggered to her feet. She stood swaying gently for a few minutes, but she was upright and a little color returned to her flawless cheeks. She even managed enough strength to run a brush through her long hair. She eyed Linsha’s soggy clothes and storm-blown hair critically.

“You look like something the dog dragged off the beach. Aren’t you going to change?” she asked, but she knew the answer. The two of them were opposites in so many ways.

“No.” Linsha shook her damp curls. They were stiff with salt and as bedraggled as her wet clothes. “It’s still raining. No point in drying off if I’m just going to get wet again.”

They heard loud voices and screams from the two cabins beside them and knew the Tarmaks were coming for them. A fist pounded on their door before it was yanked open and the large, bearded face of one of Lanther’s guards glared through the opening. He said something in the harsh, guttural tongue of the Tarmaks and stamped on.

Linsha hid a sneer. She’d always had a talent for languages and from the Tarmaks’ first appearance in the Missing City, she had been trying to learn their difficult tongue. During these past two weeks on the ship, she had listened to the warriors and sailors at every opportunity and believed now she was beginning to understand the Tarmaks’ rhythm, syntax, and many of their swear words.

She hoped the time would come when this would prove to be a valuable asset.

Trying to dredge up some resignation, she shouldered her sack of belongings and led the way out of the cabin. Callista followed silently, her blanket pulled over her fair head like a shawl. The bevy of slave girls was passing by, escorted by several burly Tarmak guards, and Linsha and Callista simply mingled in. Lanther had not told them to do otherwise, and Callista was anxious to get off the dank, dark ship. Linsha was too despondent to care what they did.

At the tail of the line of anxious, weeping women, Linsha and Callista walked out of the hold into the rain. Callista, still weak from seasickness, had to lean on Linsha’s arm as they walked across the deck. They followed the young women and guards across the plank onto the pier and up to a busy wharf where they came to a halt before a large group of Tarmaks, both male and female, who had gathered to meet the ship.

It was the first time Linsha had seen Tarmaks of both sexes, and she was impressed in spite of herself. The females were nearly as tall as the males, equally as graceful, and they handled themselves with dignity and some measure of self assurance. Their skin had the deep tan of people who spend much time outdoors, and most wore their long hair in a single braid, unlike the men whose hair was often twisted into intricate knots.

Both men and women were clothed in loose, comfortable clothing designed for a warm climate. The females wore wrap dresses or loose skirts, and the men wore knee-length pleated kilts or tunics and baggy wrap pants. Although the men adorned themselves with gold jewelry and the feathers of exotic birds, only the warriors wore the white feathers in their hair, and the women seemed to avoid any obvious decoration.

Some of the Tarmaks Linsha saw seemed to be very important, for she noticed there was much talking and bowing between a group of males in headdresses of gold set with red gems and Lanther, the ship’s captain, and several of the officers. She could also see another large group approaching the edge of crowd, a group accompanied by a canopy and a sizable display of banners and pennants that sagged in the gusty rain.

She was staring at the oncoming entourage when she felt someone move behind her. A rough hand shoved her out of the way and a Tarmak moved into her place beside Callista. She staggered, landed on the balls of her feet, and like a cat she regained her balance and twisted around to see a large male pull the blanket out of Callista’s hands.

The courtesan made a sound of protest and tried to pull back, but the blanket was yanked away, revealing her fair hair and uncovering her beauty. The other nineteen girls from the Missing City had darker hair, black or brown or reddish auburn; none had Callista’s hair that fell like a shimmering veil of gold or a face as fair an elf maiden’s. Even pale and weary from the voyage, Callista was the most exquisite of the human women and, to the Tarmak eye, probably one of the most exotic.

The Tarmak’s heavy features lifted in a leer and he pinioned the courtesan’s arms in a tight grip. To Callista’s credit, she did not scream. Her blue eyes darkened with anger and turned to Linsha in a silent appeal for help.

Linsha studied the situation for one quick instant. The Tarmak before her was not one of Lanther’s. If he had been on the ship, he would have known this woman was untouchable. She noted the scars on his legs from the Tarmaks’ notorious war games, the heavy calluses on his hands, and the muscles that bulged on his arms and chest. He had a full beard and long hair braided with the white feathers of a warrior, and he wore the traditional short sword that was heavy enough to decapitate a horse. She acted fast while she still had the advantage of surprise.

With the speed of a backstreet cutthroat, she shifted her weight to one foot and lashed out at the Tarmak with the other. Her soggy boot landed firmly just above the hem of his pleated kilt. The impact made him gasp and loosen his hold on Callista. As the Tarmak tilted forward in pain, Linsha swung the palm of her hand up to smash into his nose. It was like smacking a bullock, but the stunned Tarmak groaned and toppled. Using his weight and the right leverage, Linsha caught his arm and flipped him over the edge of the wharf. The splash he made going into the water was most satisfying.

Linsha stared down at him floating in the choppy water, and for one brief second she considered jumping in after him. She had done something similar once to save Ian Durne, but he had been just a Dark Knight assassin. This Tarmak, she decided, could sink or swim without her.

She turned back to the dock and came face to face with half a dozen angry warriors, their swords drawn and pointed at her. All around her wary faces stared at her in surprise and unpleasant consideration. Linsha sneered at them and spat a single word in the Tarmak language. Her effrontery gave them pause just long enough for Lanther to reach her.

“That is not a polite word, my dearest,” he said. “Do you have a death wish?”

The warriors drew back before the Akkad-Dar while one explained in a spat of heated words what had happened. At Lanther’s command, they sheathed their swords and stood glowering at the woman they believed to be a slave.

Lanther peered over the edge of wharf then turned his back on the fallen warrior. “Why did you do that?” he demanded.

She drew herself up to her full height. “The oaf tried to touch Callista. I have a reputation to establish.”

A single eyebrow rose on Lanther’s face before his vivid blue eyes began to twinkle and he burst into appreciative laughter. “An excellent beginning, my lady.” He bowed to her.

He switched to the Tarmak tongue and, speaking to those around him, grated through a long string of sentences.

Although Linsha only caught a few words, she could see the effect of his intent on the faces around her. The Tarmaks relaxed; a few smiled. The warriors appraised her from head to toe and shrugged. No one, Linsha noted, made any effort to go after the warrior in the water or even throw him a line.

“Are you going to leave him there?” she asked.

Lanther made a dismissive gesture. “He was stupid enough to let himself be tossed in. He can find his own way out.”

The press of Tarmaks parted behind him. The guards, the canopy, and several dignified-looking old Tarmaks in robes of blue approached escorting one of the most massive males Linsha had ever seen on two feet. His girth made most minotaurs look skinny. He stood a good seven and a half feet tall, and his grizzled bushy hair and beard added even more height and bulk. A magnificent headdress made of beaten gold and the tail feathers of a large bird crowned his huge head. On his shoulders was draped the pelt of a black panther. A golden torque hung about his neck, and his arms were bound with gold arm rings. He stood under his canopy in the falling rain and looked over his people with the immovable assurance of a mountain.

Every Tarmak fell to one knee and clasped their upraised hands together. Callista and the slave girls stared with frightened eyes until the guards forced them to kneel as well. Only Lanther, the slaves hanging grimly onto the poles of the canopy, and Linsha, who crossed her arms and looked unimpressed, remained on their feet.

Ignoring Linsha for the time, Lanther threw open his arms, and his face split into a huge smile of welcome and pleasure.

To Linsha’s astonishment, a young, rather damp Tarmak woman cried out in delight. She sprang back to her feet, broke away from the stately entourage, threw herself into Lanther’s arms and kissed him in such an embrace of ardent passion that Linsha’s mouth dropped open. She turned her head and looked at Callista kneeling behind her, missing the startled, wary look that passed over Lanther’s features.

Curious, Linsha eyed the young Tarmak. The woman stood a healthy six inches taller than Linsha and was certainly in better physical shape. While Linsha had suffered through almost five months of deprivation, struggle, poor food, wounds, and illness, this woman must have been running up mountain slopes and butchering cattle in her spare time. She had the same athletic grace to her build and motion as the males and a formidable upper body strength that spoke of years of weapons practice. Her fair skin was darkened from a lifetime spent outdoors, and her black hair was braided into the single, utilitarian braid laced with polished stone beads.

Lanther gently but firmly pushed the Tarmak woman back a step and explained something to her in her own language.

Whatever it was he said to her, Linsha could see the woman was not taking it well. Her face darkened with anger and a scowl turned her excitement to ugly scorn.

The huge male under the canopy rumbled a question or two to Lanther in a voice that reminded Linsha of boulders rolling down a hillside. The Akkad-Dar bowed low. Taking Linsha by the arm, he pulled her over to face the huge Tarmak and launched into a much longer explanation. Linsha understood only bits and pieces, but she caught the gist of it. Lanther was apparently extolling her virtues as a warrior. At one break in his narrative, he pointed over the dock and into the water, which elicited a chuckle from the big Tarmak and looks of curiosity from the others close by.

If the men of the group were interested by Lanther’s tale, the woman was not. She put her hands on her hips while Lanther talked and focused her unfriendly glare on Linsha. Her dark brown eyes bore into Linsha’s with unadulterated animosity.

“What’s going on?” asked Linsha. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to ignore the insidious little chill that slid up her back.

Lanther switched to Common and said, “My lady, I would like you to meet Khanwhelak, Emperor of Ithin’carthia, Lord Subjugator, Chosen of Kadulawa’ah, I have told him of your prowess as a warrior.”

With a grim smile, she swallowed her obstinate pride. Clasping her hands, she bowed to the Emperor. She might toss the odd Tarmak warrior into the water, but she knew enough to back away from dangerous shoals. This giant of a Tarmak could crush her with one hand or order a dozen warriors to hack her to bits.

Lanther bowed as well and added something else, but a sharp word interrupted his speech. The young woman stalked up to him and launched into a long diatribe laced with furious gestures and loud words directed equally to Lanther and the Emperor. Linsha did not need a translator to catch the derision and disdain directed at her or the heated argument the woman was heaping on both males’ heads. Linsha wondered if she was a relative to be allowed to address the emperor in such tones.

The Emperor let her rant for a short while before he cut her off with a single word. He said something to Lanther that seemed to calm the woman a little, but Linsha saw the Akkad-Dar’s jaw muscles tighten and the scar on his right cheek turn a darker red. She wiped the rain from her eyes and wondered what had just transpired.

The Emperor shouted something to his people, who cheered with great appreciation, then he and his guards, accompanied by Lanther and the ship’s officers, proceeded up the broad road away from the wharves and disappeared into the busy city streets.

Linsha watched them go while her apprehension grew. She and Callista had been left behind with the slave girls and no clear idea of what they should do next. The Tarmak woman glared down her aristocratic nose at them, turned her back, and left with a toss of her long braid.

“Isn’t she a charmer?” Linsha muttered, helping Callista to her feet.

“If she were in my business, she would use chains and whips,” the courtesan replied with a note of professional disdain. She pulled her blanket back over her damp hair, looked anxiously at the little huddle of young women, and asked in a soft voice, “What do we do now?”

Her answer came swiftly in the guise of a squad of warriors. The ten Tarmaks quickly herded the slaves, the courtesan, and Linsha into a wet, miserable group and escorted them through the busy waterfront to a paved road that wound up the slope of a high, broad hill. Linsha took the lead of the group and walked after the guards with her head held up and her eyes scanning the city around her. The other women fell in behind her.

They walked through wide streets busy with pedestrians, carts, wagons, and numerous four-legged animals. Linsha saw mules, goats, dogs, and some odd creatures that she had never seen before. She saw chickens and ducks that might have been brought from Ansalon, furry animals that looked like hornless goats with long necks, tiny golden monkeys that scampered through the trees, and spotted cats the size of foxes.

The buildings of the city were constructed of stone and wood and were painted in bright colors. None were over three stories tall and most had flat roofs and wide, colorful awnings that sheltered doors and shop windows. Tarmaks of all ages and both sexes went about their business in the rain beneath the colorful awnings or under parasols that moved and twirled in a rainbow dance that made an unexpected contrast to the drab, wet day.

In the Missing City autumn was setting in with its gales and frosts and impending cold, but the climate on Ithin’carthia’s southern foothills was semitropical and—to Linsha’s thinking—downright warm. Everywhere she looked she saw flowers trailing, vining, and clambering over rock walls and buildings. Flowering shrubs grew in pots or in yards. Flowering trees, native to the continent, bloomed in parks and gardens. Linsha saw large butterflies, something that looked like a dragonfly with iridescent wings, and small birds of brilliant hue flying among the blossoms. She had thought the Brutes were a rough, uncultured people, yet looking around this large, populous city she began to realize there was far more to them than the first impression of bloodthirsty savage. Their buildings were well made and maintained, their green spaces brimmed with gardens and walkways, prosperous markets sat at many intersections offering buyers tables of merchandise and food laid out in neat displays under canopied roofs that kept shoppers dry. Everyone, from the warriors who strutted together along the streets to the mix of laborers and human slaves who moved busily about their tasks, looked healthy and clean.

There were many large buildings whose purpose Linsha could not identify, while there were others she recognized as storehouses, shops, workshops, public houses, kitchens, livestock markets, and clothiers. Near the edge of the city she saw a large tannery and a metalworking shop. Close by was an armory and another huge complex with training fields and what looked like step pyramids and temples.

The road swept on past the barracks on its large hill then curved to the southeast and began to climb up a taller hill. Linsha tried to look ahead, but clouds and rain obscured the heights and hid the foothills in fog. Around her, the city’s buildings gave way to terraced fields and vineyards.

The girls behind her slowed and looked around with huge apprehensive eyes, but the guards would not let them dally. The group trudged on through the rain up the road to the top of the hill. Beyond the crown of the hill the farmland gave way to level grass fields cleared of all trees and undergrowth. At the higher elevation the wind blew harder, driving the rain before it.

“Look,” Callista said softly. One hand tightened around Linsha’s forearm while the other pointed toward the fields.

Linsha followed her gesture out toward the far edges of the fields, out into the wind and the pouring rain, and felt a chill grip her heart. If the ships were poised and ready to sail toward Ansalon, certainly there would be warriors to man them. Unit after unit, the ekwullik and the larger dekullik, of Tarmaks trained and marched on the grassy fields, oblivious to the weather that stormed around them.

“There must be thousands out there,” Callista whispered.

“At least,” Linsha grated. “See there? They have cavalry, too. They weren’t very good on horseback the first time they came to the Plains, but they’re learning. Gods, look at that maneuver. They’re almost as good as the Plains tribes.”

Linsha would have stood in the rain and watched the distant army in its training, but the guards moved her along with the others, and Linsha did not argue. They rounded another curve in the road and saw for the first time the large complex of buildings sprawled on the top of the high promontory that Linsha had seen from the ship. Girdled by high walls, it looked very imposing and very secure.

“The Emperor’s palace,” a guard said to her in rough Common. “You will stay here. In the Akeelawasee.”

“The A… keela…” She tried to repeat the unfamiliar word. “Place of—?”

“The Chosen Ones,” the guard answered.

The Chosen Ones? Linsha did not like the sound of that. Chosen for what?

The road leveled out and led straight and true to a towering gateway that opened through the first high wall and into a courtyard lined with guards. From the court, walkways led through arches in numerous directions to stables, barracks, storehouses, armories, and the outer service buildings of the palace. The main road continued across the courtyard between a row of menacing statues that resembled lions in various poses of attack. They had been carved from polished sandstone, and they glowered down on passersby. Beyond the lions the roadway passed through a second wall and timbered passage and into a second court where more guards stood in silent vigilance and more pathways guided one to other parts of the palace. Finally a third wall rose before the women, and they were led into the largest and most impressive square of any palace Linsha had ever seen.

The square spread out one hundred feet on both sides of the entrance to high walls painted a dazzling white and to impressive buildings whose purpose Linsha could only guess. A broad flight of stairs led down to the cobbled square that stretched about two hundred yards ahead, past a large statue, to the foot of a second stone staircase that climbed with dignified grace to a magnificent five-storied hall. The hall had been painted a brilliant blue and its numerous columns were red. Its two-tiered roof and soaring peaks gleamed gold even in the stormy light of the fading day.

There was no sign of anyone in the square until a Tarmak guard called a question. It was answered by another voice somewhere close by. A Tarmak warrior stepped out of the shadows of the wall and gestured to another who stepped out of his place and opened a large door in the wall. Linsha realized with a start there were probably dozens of warriors stationed silently in the corners, doorways, and arches that led out of the square. The hushed group of wet women began to move reluctantly toward the door, driven on by their guards. Linsha and Callista moved after them.

The guard who had spoken to her earlier extended his spear and blocked her way. “Drathkin’kela. You do not go there. You-” he pointed to Callista and herself-“You go to Akeelawasee.”

“Yes,” Linsha said crossly. “You said that earlier. Isn’t that where they’re going?”

He laughed a deep rumble of enjoyment. “Those? They are slaves. Tribute from the Akkad-Dar to the Emperor. Our glorious emperor will take them himself. If any survive, he may keep them or give them to his guards.”

Linsha’s brows lowered. “What do you mean ‘if any survive?’ ”

The Tarmak made a sharp sound of derision. “Human womans are too small. Fragile. The Emperor is a powerful warrior. He is not… gentle.”

Linsha looked disgusted. “He is not a lightweight either.”

“Poor things,” Callista said softly, her large eyes filled with sympathy for the women disappearing through the door. Her hand tightened even more on Linsha’s arm.

“This way.” The guard pointed his spear toward the hall on the far side of the square. Taking the lead, he walked across the smooth cobbles, fully expecting the two women to follow.

Linsha took one last look at the women from the Missing City then followed him, her arm steady under Callista’s apprehensive grip.

Halfway across the square they came to a series of narrow bridges that spanned a stone-laid waterway where a river had been diverted to flow through the square in a gentle arc. The effect was serene and added a balancing element to the large open stone space. It also provided an excellent way to slow down an enemy trying to attack across the square. Linsha wondered what other tricks the Tarmaks had disguised in this place.

As they walked across the remaining distance to the stairs at the great hall, Linsha took a closer look at the statue posed at the foot of the stairs, then she took a second look. Although the artist’s execution and interpretation of his subject had been fanciful and a little too exotic, the basic shape was all too familiar. The statue was of a dragon that stood crouched protectively, one taloned foot upraised and its toothy mouth open in a snarl. Its wings were half furled; its cold eyes stared malevolently at passersby.

Linsha stopped at its feet and looked at the head ten feet above her. “I didn’t know this land had dragons.”

To her surprise, the guard bowed low before the statue. “No dragons here. They are sacred to Amarrel. This was Methanfire, dragon of the Akkad-Dar’s father.”

The Dark Knight’s dragon. A blue, if the painted scales were accurate. Linsha’s thoughts roved back over everything she could remember about the Tarmaks and dragons. Except for the previous warlord, the Akkad-Ur, she had never seen one on dragonback. The general had also worn a necklace of dragon’s teeth and a mailed shirt of dragon scales. Where had those come from, and why had he worn them? Were they trophies from a kill or a way to honor dragons? On the Plains, the Tarmaks had aided Thunder in killing Iyesta, then they abetted in the death of the blue. They tried to coerce Crucible into joining them, then nearly killed him. What did the Tarmaks think about dragons? She really didn’t know. She would have thought they hated the great beasts, but here was one practically venerated in the front porch of the emperor’s palace. The guard had said they were sacred to Amarrel. Amarrel, she remembered, was the demigod Lord Ariakan had supposedly impersonated in order to convince the Tarmaks to join him. Maybe it was his influence that sparked this respect for something the Tarmaks seemed to both love and hate.

Shaking her head, she moved past the dragon statue and followed the guard and Callista up the stairs to a set of large double doors bound in brass and set in a frame of some kind of polished red wood. The guard pushed open a door and led them inside out of the rain. Linsha and Callista paused on the threshold for a moment, their mouths open in astonishment at the size and ornamentation of the vestibule. Mosaics in bright geometric patterns spread over the floors, and murals of Tarmak battles covered the walls. A row of gilded columns gleamed in the dim light. The guard turned left and hurried the two women on. Their eyes wide, they moved through broad corridors past more chambers and council rooms, and all the rooms that they could see were adorned with polished woods, magnificent wall hangings, and painted frescos of fantastic animals and bloody battle scenes. This was certainly more than either had expected.

The Tarmak had always struck Linsha as a race bent solely on destruction. It had not occurred to her that their civilization was quite ancient and somewhere in the midst of their warfare they had found time to build magnificent palaces and learn the deeper aesthetics of art and expert craftsmanship.

After some minutes of walking, they approached a set of large double doors flanked by two enormous guards fully armed with swords, knives, and small round shields. The doors were set in a round opening and carved into a screen of ornately twisting vines and flowers. A word spoken by their escort elicited a slight bow by both Tarmaks, and the door was opened wide.

A smaller male Tarmak in a simple white tunic and leather kilt hurried forward to meet them as if he had been waiting by the door for just such an opportunity. The warrior explained his mission. Linsha listened to his voice and caught the Akkad-Dar’s name. She also heard the odd title the guard had used earlier. The Drathkin’kela. What was that supposed to mean? Betrothed? Intended? Idiot? Whatever it was, it was enough to prompt the elderly Tarmak to jerk his head. For a second his eyes sought her face and an expression of astonishment flickered across his features. Immediately the look was hidden, and he clasped his hands and bowed low, revealing a bald head.

The guard bowed to Linsha. “The Akeelawasee,” he said and propelled the two women through the door.

Linsha turned around to ask him a question, but before the words were out of her mouth the doors slammed in her face.