Rathma
The city was wet with rain as Rathma was pulled through the streets behind Evram and his men. His cloak was soaked, his lower half splashed with mud, and he had never been so cold in his life. That, coupled with the fact that he was sure he was about to be sold as a slave—or worse—made him upset. And when he got upset, Kuu always told him, he got mouthy.
“Can’t you cut my hands free? It’s not like I can blend in here if I run.” He waved his bound hands helplessly, as if making his case.
“You’ll fetch a higher price if we don’t have to break your legs,” Evram said. “And I’d much rather have a heavier purse at the end of the day.” He turned back to smile at Rathma. “Although the man we’re going to see might pay top coin for you even if I sawed your legs off.”
Plan B, Rathma thought bitterly.
They had entered Théas from the south earlier that day, when the rain from the night before was just starting to let up. Rathma gawked at the big buildings that were so close together that many of them looked like they ran right into each other. It was a big change from anything beyond the Wastes, that much was certain.
In the larger streets of Théas were laid stones that were smoothed out and held together by a gray substance that Rathma figured had been poured by the stonemasons. The streets were flat and easier to walk on than sand, but it felt unnatural. The multitude of horses that he saw pulling carts didn’t seem to mind, though. The smaller streets were mostly dirt or cobblestone, but one thing was for sure: the city was huge. Rathma had never seen so many people this close together in one place before. It was as if someone had put all the tribes in one spot and started building on top of them. He wasn’t sure how anyone could breathe like this, let alone live.
The street they now walked down had, in the distance, a huge white statue of a man on horseback clutching an enormous war hammer. Rathma wasn’t sure who the man was supposed to be, but he looked like a Hedjetten or an emperor. The statue was surrounded by a great marble fountain with more water than Rathma had ever seen in one spot, and passers-by were tossing copper coins into it. A few children at the base were playfully copying the pose of the rider as some adults looked on. Rathma shook his head. All that water and they just throw coins at it.
“How much longer could we possibly walk?” he groaned. “Does this city ever end?”
“Stop whining. We’re almost there,” Evram said as he gave Rathma’s rope a pull. “Through the alley.”
As they rounded the corner from the main street, the dull roar of people was muted, and Rathma felt his sanity starting to return. He hadn’t realized how loud the city was until it quieted down; it was like closing the door behind a roaring sandstorm: silent, sudden, welcome.
“Up there,” Evram said, peering up to the second floor of a dark brick building. By a door in the alley was an imposing man with a sword at his side, arms crossed, who seemed to be looking for an excuse to run something through. As the party approached, the man’s hand moved to the hilt.
“State your business or move along,” he rumbled with a G’henni accent.
“We are here to see your employer.” Evram smiled. “I believe I have something that will strike his interest.”
The doorman looked at Rathma, eyeing his hair, his eyes, and his cloak. Rathma grinned and held up his rope-bound hands to draw attention away from the rest of him, but it only worked for a moment.
“Wait here,” the doorman answered, and he disappeared inside, through the sturdy wooden door. A moment later he reemerged with the same gruff look on his face and grunted, “Upstairs and through the door.”
“Thank you,” Rathma said before being elbowed in the gut by Evram.
“Quiet,” Evram seethed as he dragged him along. Rathma complied, waving silently at the doorman, who watched him and shook his head in bewilderment.
The wooden staircase that led to the second floor was well maintained, looking as fresh as if it had been built only the day before. The heavy footsteps of the half dozen men walking up it told Rathma that it was sturdy and solid, and could probably support five times that many men before it even started to creak. There were two more men guarding a door at the top—also G’henni—and the one on the right opened it without a sound. He gestured for them to go inside. After Rathma stepped in, he heard the door close behind him with the telltale clink of a metal bolt being closed, and saw the two men step in to guard the exit behind him.
They must really want to make sure we stay.
The inside was spacious and made of the same dark-stained wood that comprised the staircase, and smelled heavily of incense and wine. Several rugs covered the floor, but the walls were bare. At the opposite end of the long room was the figure of a man standing in front of a large window that overlooked the busy street. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and turned as he heard them come in. He was heavyset, and his clothes looked like they cost more than Rathma’s village.
“Ah, Evram,” the man said. “What have you brought for me now? My bodyguard insisted that I see you.” His voice dripped with a G’henni accent, and his smile was adorned with gold teeth, for which Rathma thought he’d probably overpaid.
“Then he surely has an eye for the business, Magistrate,” Evram answered. “I would watch out for him if I were you.” He grinned. “May I sit?”
“Of course, of course,” the magistrate replied as he gestured to one of several chairs. “Whichever one pleases you.”
Watching these two talk is like seeing two snakes mate, Rathma thought as he pulled his hood farther over his eyes. Yelto would love it.
Evram took off his silver-lined cloak and hung it over the plush red chair closest to the dark G’henni man. He sat down, crossing one leg over the other, and cleared his throat. “What I have is a rare specimen,” he said. “One that you will be hard pressed to find anywhere but the dunes of Khulakorum.”
The man looked skeptically at Rathma, squinting to make him out in the dim room. “Surely, you don’t mean—”
“I do,” Evram said, holding up a hand before he could finish. Over his shoulder he said, “Denk, his hood.”
Denk yanked back the hood covering Rathma’s hair, and a low chuckle floated over from the other side of the room.
“Well, well,” the man said. “This is a rare find indeed, Evram. You may have outdone yourself this time.”
Evram raised one eyebrow. “High praise,” he said with a smile. “Now let’s talk coin, shall we?”
The magistrate took a seat by Evram, dismissed the two men at the door, and said, “Let’s.”
Rathma heard the door close again behind him and found himself wishing that Djozen Yelto had been able to carry out the execution in Khadje Kholam. And, for the first time in his life, he wished that he had the power of farstepping.