Chapter Eight #2
“I hate him.”
“Galen? Why? What did he say this time?”
“He didn’t say anything. I don’t like his look.”
I slid my gaze to him and found Galen stretching beside his horse, then running a hand through his hair as he scanned the horizon for threats. Those, at least, would be easy to see. “His face is great; his mouth is the problem.”
“The least of them,” she said, then moved along.
The wind was strong here, with nothing to impede its progress. I closed my eyes and heard nothing but the rustle of grass. Even this early in the spring, the grass was tall enough to reach our knees.
The silence was unsettling. The stronghold was never quiet. Dogs barked, hawkers called out their deals, people laughed, roosters crowed. This was the absence of all those things—of people and buildings and everything else.
I didn’t know where I’d been born, where I’d lived before my memories began a few weeks—days?—before I was deposited at the Lady’s manor. But I didn’t think it was a place like this. Nothing about this felt familiar or comfortable.
I felt Nik move beside me and opened my eyes.
“It’s very empty out here.”
“Empty but free. You get used to the quiet.”
“Do you?” I looked up at him, his gaze on the horizon and his hair moving in the breeze. He looked more relaxed here than he had in the stronghold or the garden. Maybe because there was time yet before we reached the caravanserai, before he had to think about death and assassins again.
He nodded. “You just need a warm fire and a clear sky, when you can see nothing but the dome of stars from one horizon to the other. The worries fall away, because there’s nothing to do about them out here.”
“Not a lot of puzzles to solve,” I said.
“But fewer enemies. No worries, Fox. We’ll reach the caravanserai soon enough. And there’s always something to see in the caravanserai.”
It appeared first as a smudge on the horizon, hard to discern against the never-ending flatness. Then it became lines and shapes and, when we were close enough, an enormous wall of brick-colored stone with a wide gatehouse in the middle and circular towers on each end.
“Welcome to the Saheylesh caravanserai,” Nik said. “Any Aether?”
“No pain,” I said. “And I don’t see any from here.” But the structure was enormous.
“I’m not expecting problems. By Vhranian tradition, anyone who visits peaceably is untouchable. Kill a tyrant if you must, but respite for travelers is sacred.”
We moved closer until the building nearly filled the horizon, then stopped.
Galen rode alone first toward the gatehouse, discussed our arrival with the guards who waited in its shade, then handed something to them, probably to secure our entry.
Likely a letter from the prince or a packet of coins.
After further talk and some pointing, the guards moved to the edges of the gatehouse. Galen returned.
“In through the front,” he said, and looked at Yue. “Take whatever space you can find. There will be water and oats for the horses.”
She nodded.
“We’ll get the horses settled, then we’ll go inside,” Nik told me.
And then Yue snapped her reins, and the carriage began to move.
We trundled under the arch and into the first stone courtyard, which was alive with noise and dirt and animals.
There were half a dozen carriages, stone pens of livestock, and people eating hurried meals before the next portion of their journey.
Horses and camels chewed as they rested, unbothered by the chaos around them.
It smelled of dust and dung and sunshine and sweat.
“Always something to see in the caravanserai,” Nik said again.
When the carriage settled, I climbed out.
Galen and Wren had already tied their horses in the shade of an awning that extended around the courtyard’s edge.
Nik and Yue fed and watered the hitched horses.
A few strides away, a woman blew a raspy tune on a small pipe, while her companion drank from a jug of sweetwine.
Others reviewed maps drawn on parchment or leather, planning out the rest of their journeys, or napped near their animals.
The travelers wore quilted tunics and pants suited for living in a place where the winds seemed to drive straight through you.
I felt the lightest pinch and looked up and around. Atop the westernmost tower, floating above the crenellations, was an Anima. A man in an old-fashioned uniform, barely visible in the brilliant sunlight, his gaze on the eastern horizon.
“What is it?” Wren asked when she joined me.
“There’s an Anima on the tower.”
She squinted into the sunlight, scanning the building. “Dangerous?”
“I don’t think so. Minimal pain. Looks to be minding his own business.”
“Then I’ll mind mine. How was the ride?”
“I mostly looked out the window. You good?”
She nodded, rolling her shoulders. “Haven’t ridden like that in a while. Wish I could do it more often.”
We watched a couple in long crimson coats over their quilted tunics pass on white horses with embossed and embroidered saddles.
“What’s our position on stealing from wealthy Vhranians?” I quietly asked.
“I’m for it,” Wren said. “But it might not do much for diplomacy.”
“What’s the Vhranian punishment for thieves?”
“You lose a hand.” She grinned. “So don’t get caught.”
Nearby, Nik handed a drawstring bag of jangling coins to a caravanserai worker. The prince must have had servants devoted exclusively to the sewing of coin pouches.
“Yue?” I asked when he and Galen approached.
“She’ll stay out here. Generally prefers animals to people,” Nik said.
“Don’t blame her,” Wren muttered.
“There’s an Anima on the building,” I said, and pointed to its location.
“An attacker?”
“Honestly, he looks like he’s keeping watch.”
“So we shouldn’t be concerned?” Galen asked.
“Not unless you’ve done a lot of evildoing.” I looked at him speculatively. “Have you?”
There was a moment of wide-eyed terror before it faded again. “That’s not funny.”
“I found the look on your face very funny, actually.”
Galen’s lip curled, and he looked at Nik for support.
“Only a bit funny,” Nik said soothingly.
Galen muttered something.
“Evildoing,” I warned, and we followed Nik under an archway, which led into a second courtyard.
But where the first had been sunny and dusty and loud, this one was quiet as a shrine and green as the foothills.
Palm trees rose higher than the walls, with smaller plants throwing up vivid flowers that perfumed the air.
The courtyard was edged by a covered walkway, where patrons sat on benches in the shade.
Nik led us to a fountain of gleaming white tile patterned with vivid blue flowers, where water gurgled from copper spouts into a shallow basin.
“This is from the spring around which the original fort was built,” Nik said. “It’s destined never to run dry.”
A brass mirror, a round plate of gleaming metal with symbols etched around the edge, hung above the fountain.
“What does it say?” Wren asked.
“ ‘Peace to all who are reflected here,’ ” Nik translated. “You can wash your face and hands there before we go in. It’s a courtesy.”
A requirement, he meant, which I was fine with. I felt gritty despite having ridden in the carriage, and Wren took her time cleaning her hands and nails.
When we were refreshed, we followed him into a wide room with high shuttered windows that allowed a breeze to flow across the space. Water emerged from a group of rocks in one wall, powering a waterwheel that turned palm fronds and moved more cool air.
“Very clever,” Wren said approvingly.
The floor was covered in the same blue-and-white tile used on the outside fountain.
The room had multiple small levels, each a few steps above the last, and groups of people sat on low stools or cushions.
Most wore Vhranian dress, but they were a mix of ages, sizes, and skin colors.
A good number of them looked to be very happily drunk.
A man strode toward us. His hair was dark and short, his handsome face light brown and narrow, with a straight nose and wide mouth. His eyes were the color of the clear amber that sometimes appeared for sale in the markets.
He wore simple Vhranian-style clothing, but dozens of thin metal bangles stretched from wrist to elbow, and three golden stars were inked above his left eye.
The stars meant he wasn’t just Vhranian, but one of the Zephyrii—the nomadic Vhranians.
And given the stars and bangles, a very important man among them.
“My friend,” the man said in accented Carethian, and wrapped his arms around Nik.
“You look healthy,” Nik said when the man released him.
“Air, meat, wine, and women,” the man said. “They keep a man healthy and strong.” His gaze fell on me and Wren. “And who are you?”
“Fox and Wren,” Nik said, pointing us out. “Meet Savaadh Pharish, a member of the Zephyrii.”
“And an Ensi?” I asked. An Ensi was a leader among the Zephyrii, expert in navigation and in keeping his people safe as they traveled.
Savaadh tilted his head. “Why would you say that?”
“Gold bangles, star marks.”
“So I am, but please call me Savaadh.” His smile was wide and confident; only the powerful had the resources to smile like that. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Fox and Wren.”
Wren nodded.
A worker brought over a tray laden with food and ceramic jars of wine, the openings sealed with colored wax. “Our guests,” he announced to the rest of the room. “They are our family. They are welcome.”