Sera
Sera had only been there one night and she already hated waking up in the heat of the Wastes. She sat up in her barely comfortable bed and wiped the sweat from her face, pulling her hair back to try to cool off. It was still early, but evidently the sun was already high enough to make an oven out of her quarters.
The two Thurians, Hullis and Dhrostain, had been permitted inside the walls, but their lower-ranking status as captains did not see them invited as guests into Yelto’s inner compound, which was rather extensive, much to Sera’s surprise.
When the four of them had come in, Sera had half expected the Wastes to be made up of nothing more than some loosely scattered tents over sand dunes. What she saw was something else entirely: Khadje Kholam was a city in its own right, boasting a multitude of people and buildings that dominated the landscape. Row upon row of houses and shops seemed to have sprung up from the desert itself, as if each were a seed that had been sown by the wind. The result was a bustling colony in the heart of the desert.
Yelto’s compound was more or less the center point of the city, and the arid lands around it were littered with huts and buildings made from hardened mud and stone. In each of those buildings lived all manner of people: goat herders, horse tamers, leather workers, spear and sword makers. Each of them served a purpose in the tribe, and all of them looked as though they could handle themselves in a fight. It’s surprising that they were so easily conquered, Sera mused. She worked out a kink in her neck and turned her head.
Tennech, who sat with his back to her, staring out a small window in their room, did not turn to look at her, but Sera knew he had been waiting for her to wake up. She took a long look before speaking.
“Those things you said about my daughter becoming the next Shaper . . . ,” she began.
Tennech waved her off. “I told Djozen Yelto what he needed to hear. I will have my army, and you will have a claim to rule the tribes, and possibly even Khala Val’ur, if events unfold in our favor.”
Of course, she thought. Aldis Tennech always has a plan.
“Yes . . . yes, of course,” she stammered. He did not become general by accident, after all, came the afterthought.
Tennech turned and fixed his eyes on her.
“We are close, Sera,” he said. “And if he cannot help us, we will have to take matters into our own hands. But, for now, do what you need to do to make yourself presentable,” he said as he stood. “Djozen Yelto has invited us to break our fast with him.”
***
The Djozen’s dining hall was every bit as impressive as Sera had expected it to be, and for that reason alone she refused to be impressed by it. It was filled with all manner of things that surely existed as a blatant show of wealth. There were gems of every color inlaid into the brickwork, candleholders made of silver, small statues made of bronze; there was even a rug that looked to be embroidered with gold. She was certain that if gold could be made into a serving girl, Yelto would have it done.
The high ceilings of the spacious room had transoms at the very top of the walls that let in just enough of the soft morning light. Tapestries hung all around, and a long wooden table bearing a white tablecloth with silver trays was fixed in the middle of the room.
At its head, of course, sat Yelto.
“Ah, General Tennech. Do come in.”
A serving girl was pouring the last of a bottle of wine into the Djozen’s goblet as the fat man made a beckoning motion for them to join him.
“We are honored, Djozen Yelto,” Tennech replied. He held his arm out for Sera to precede him to their seats, which were positioned opposite each other and next to the head of the table, where Yelto sat. The old general waited for Sera to be seated, then did so himself. He cleared his throat and looked at Yelto. “I’m told that you have some things you would like to discuss,” he said.
“Indeed,” Yelto replied. He clapped his hands thrice, and the doors to the dining hall opened. “But we should not do it on empty stomachs.”
Into the dining room poured at least a dozen girls with serving trays topped with food and drink, moving flawlessly as if they were performing the opening scene of some well-rehearsed dance. Silver flashed as it caught the light, and the servants whirled past each other and over to the table, carrying their fare as easily as if it were an extension of their bodies. Candles were placed and lit, drinks were poured, and cutlery was disseminated all in a dizzying, deliberate performance. He even uses meals as a chance to show off, Sera thought.
When the dance was done and the last candle lit, the largest array of food that Sera had seen in recent memory had been laid out before them.
Looking down the rows of tall white candles, Sera was surprised by the amount of meat she saw, as well as being perplexed by some of the fruits that were laid out. A few of them she recognized, but most were foreign to her—no doubt native to these lands south of Gal’dorok. She was staring hard at a bowl of odd-looking brown fruit when their host took notice.
“I see that the lady has good taste.” Yelto smiled. “The fruit of the ykesha plant is sweet and delicious, and always in season. It is one of the most prized foods in this region.” Motioning to the bowl, he urged, “Try it.”
Sera stifled a grimace and reached out to grab a piece of the fruit, which fit nicely into her palm. Its skin was rough, and she saw a line that went all the way around, implying that the outside was a husk. She looked up expectantly at the Djozen, who nodded his head in encouragement. She worked her finger under the husk to peel it off. Beneath it was a fleshy pink orb covered in hundreds of small red seeds that were buried into its flesh like fleas. She stared at it with a mixture of horror and curiosity.
“It’s quite good,” Yelto said. “Don’t be shy.”
She held her breath and raised the orb to her mouth, hesitating before sinking her teeth into it. Sweet juice filled her mouth, as relieving as it was delicious. Yelto was right: it was quite good. She swallowed, eyeing the fat man and deciding that she was not surprised that he had good taste in food. She placed the rest onto her plate and looked to Tennech expectantly.
The general raised an eyebrow and peered down the table at a plate of what appeared to be an entire goat, head and all, cooked to brown perfection.
“I’ll stick to the more, er, traditional fare,” he said with a nod. A serving girl hurried over and cut off a piece, then placed it on his plate. Picking up a knife and fork, Tennech cut into it. “Now, Djozen Yelto, may I ask what you would like to discuss?”
The garish Djozen did not bother with a knife or fork. He used his hands to feed himself a piece of meat torn off of a small, cooked bird. “First, you must understand,” he said through a mouthful, “that we have no true armies among the tribes. Our warriors are many, and skilled, but they do not fight for a common cause. Most of the time they are making war with each other.” He swallowed, and washed it down with a long sip of wine. Tearing off another piece of meat with his hands, he bit off a portion of it. “Which is fine—until you try to get them to do anything.”
Sera and the general exchanged wary glances but helped themselves to the collection of food while Yelto talked, piling it onto their plates and sampling the fruits and meats that the servant girls had brought over.
Tennech was finishing the bit of goat when he acknowledged Yelto. “I have a great deal of experience in leading troops,” he said, putting down the knife. He reached over to take a sip from his wine. “It’s not an easy business.”
“Indeed it is not,” Yelto said as he wiped his hands on a cloth. “Which is why I think we can help each other.”
The general put down his wine and regarded Yelto. “I’m listening,” he said.
“What if I told you that I have been waiting for years for you to come along?”
“I would say that I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long.” Tennech chuckled. “But it surprises me that there is no one like me among your people already.”
“Not someone like you, General,” Yelto corrected. “You in particular.”
The general furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Someone told me that a Dagger would arrive on the backs of two black pillars. That this Dagger would bring with it the Seed of the First City and would deliver this Seed for a price. And,” he added, “that his army would scale the mountain to victory.”
Tennech tugged on the end of his graying mustache and stared at Yelto, hard. “I would say, then, that this sounds like someone I would very much like to meet.”
At these words, Yelto pushed his chair back and stood up. “Excellent,” he said. “Because she very much wants to meet you too.”