16
That afternoon Shona crossed the castle’s silent courtyard beside Joelle, who had suggested they visit the central market together. Meda had volunteered to serve as guard and companion and remained two steps behind them as Shona asked, “Why are we doing this now?”
Joelle replied, “I want to buy you a birthday present.”
“Connell told you?”
“As he should have,” Joelle replied. “What sort of gift would you like?”
“I have no idea.”
“It needs to be something that marks your entry into adulthood. A gown, perhaps.”
“Please, no. My mother is always after me to dress like a lady.”
“Then let’s pretend I did not even suggest it.”
They passed through ancient stone arches and entered the crush of the city’s main bazaar. Every manner of beast and race was on display, both for sale and crowding the cobblestone lanes. The first line of shops held birds in cages and on leashes. They screamed and shrilled and sang a welcome that buffeted Shona. The three women walked slowly, taking it all in, winding their way deeper and deeper into the market’s heart. The lanes were roofed in long streamers of translucent gauze, violet and pink and ivory. Sunlight bathed the covering, and they walked through a shaded rainbow.
They stopped for lunch at an elegant teahouse whose interior was formed from polished blond wood. Without being asked, Meda settled into the table next to theirs. The waiter was an old man with merry eyes who pretended to swoon with delight over serving two lovely ladies, then urged them to try the house specialty of roast lamb with mint and desert sorrel.
When he departed, Joelle leaned across the table and said, “Hyam has had a second conversation with Bayard and your father. They all agree that our best hope for drawing the enemy from Emporis is to set off across the yellow realm. You are not to go with us.”
“What?”
“They feel it is too dangerous.”
The same trapped feeling she had known for years surged up, accompanied by fresh bitterness. “I suppose you’re pleased.”
“Hyam objected strenuously. I also thought you should come. Already your abilities have proven of vital importance. But your father insisted. Bayard refused to intervene.” Joelle paused as the waiter returned bearing two cups and a ceramic pot. When he had poured their teas and departed, she went on, “Tell me what it is that most excites you about Hyam.”
Shona studied the woman seated across from her. Joelle’s eyes were flecked with traces of violet, evidence of her Ashanta heritage. Shona could find no hint of mockery, either in her voice or in her gaze. “His strength and his weakness. His joy and his sorrow. His . . .”
Joelle nodded and finished for her, “His mystery.”
Shona felt a tear course down one cheek. The words tumbled out of her, a plea that could not be held back. “I have a thousand little moments. They are with me always. He loves books more than any man except perhaps my papa.” She had not called her father that in years, and yet now it was the only word that fit. “He is part of my family. They love him as a brother and a son. We have our secret place, Hyam and I. At the top of the house is a garret that faces north. Hyam found it looking down from the castle walls. The door had been painted over . . . He goes there after a long day. He told me he loves the solitude and the way the sunset touches the mountains. We talk. I tell him how hard it is to be . . .”
Again Joelle finished the thought for her. “Ensnared by a family and a heritage and a love that has nurtured you since birth. Kept in a world that is too small to hold you and your dreams.”
She swiped impatiently at her cheeks. “How do you know this?”
“Because I know you and care for you,” Joelle replied. “And because I have endured my own share of unanswered yearnings. And because I want to turn you from a course that will only lead to heartache and—”
“Twice my family has invited suitors in to meet me. Twice I brought home young men I fancied. Four times Hyam has said they are not good enough for me. Four times.”
“He knows your potential,” Joelle said. “He wants you to soar with your dreams for wings.”
“No. He never said it, but I’m certain he told me to send them away because . . .”
Slowly Joelle shook her head, back and forth, each motion erasing Shona’s ability to object. “Hyam does not love you.”
Shona felt the words clench her heart.
“He cares for you deeply. He is protective of you. He believes in you. But he does not love you.” Joelle moved closer, her quiet words laden with a woman’s force. “He is my husband. And mine alone.”
Though tears veiled her vision, still Shona saw the woman across from her with a new clarity. Joelle was a woman complete in herself, a warrior vixen and a mage and a telepath with the ability to pierce the unseen. She was an orphan who had created a new family with this man. Hyam. Whom Shona loved.
The meal passed in a silent haze. Shona supposed she ate, but she did not taste a thing. Joelle did not speak again except to thank the waiter. When they finally rose from the table, Joelle took hold of Shona’s hand and offered her the silent gift of strength. As a friend would. They left the restaurant hand in hand, trailed by the guards captain, and continued to walk down one market lane after another. Joelle remained silent, granting Shona the chance to reknit her world.
Hyam left the castle in the company of Alembord and Connell’s assistant, Fareed. The acolyte was tall and skinny in the manner of a youth who had risen to man-height almost overnight. Fareed possessed a shy smile and the dark gaze of a gazelle, his features carved by sun and desert winds.
They headed south by west, away from both the bazaar and the wealthy residential areas. When the western wall came into view, they passed through barriers guarded by desert warriors holding pikes whose blades were as long as Hyam’s forearm. Fareed passed the guards and led Hyam into the Emporis caravansary.
The central square was segmented into corrals, all fed by a spring rising into a circular trough of yellow stone. The corral to Hyam’s left held a jet-black stallion that danced nervously against his lead, throwing up clouds of yellow dust. An auctioneer took bids from the jolly throng. Here on display was the clash of cultures that defined Emporis. Wild clansmen rubbed shoulders with city merchants and berobed travelers from beyond the yellow sea. Past the square rose the city’s outer wall, where guards lounged in the shadows of the western gate.
They passed a stall anchored by the stables, and the smell of roasting lamb reminded Hyam that he had not eaten since dawn. They feasted on flatbreads split lengthwise and filled with lamb and spring onions. They drank cup after cup of cool mint tea. Between bites, Fareed explained how the area beyond the western gate held the main portion of the convoys. This section inside the walls held only the most valuable animals, the auctioneers, the middlemen, the baths, the strong rooms.
Hyam asked, “Do you know the desert merchant, Jaffar?”
“I have never met him. Few have. He prefers the shadows, that one. Many say he has never set foot inside the Emporis walls, sahib.”
“My name is Hyam.”
“Yes, sahib. Here in the caravansaries, Jaffar’s reputation is very good indeed. Those who travel with him say he is the most honorable of men.”
“What of the trader you worked for?”
“He was not a good man, sahib.” Fareed dropped the remainder of his meal into the dust at his feet. “Wait here, please. I will search out Jaffar’s chief drover.”
Hyam and Alembord wandered across the plaza to the western gates. They stood in the shadows and gaped at the vast expanse of people and beasts and piles of goods that spilled down the hill. The slope was carved into seven ledges shaped like crescent moons, each over a quarter-mile wide. The caravans and animals and makeshift shelters stretched out to where they became lost in the dust and weaving sunlight. There were hundreds of travelers, perhaps thousands, and ten times that number of beasts. Cook fires created ribbons of smoke that lined the still air. The din was as ferocious as the heat.
Fareed slipped up beside him and said, “The chief drover’s name is Selim, sahib. He awaits you in the stables.”
They recrossed the plaza and entered a stable’s cool shadows. Man-sized blocks of hay were stacked like interior walls, segmenting the space and flavoring the air. Fareed led them to where a man knelt and wiped down a newborn calf with fistfuls of fresh hay. The mother was very tall, with gentle eyes and the most curious hooves Hyam had ever seen, great pads broader than a frying pan.
“What manner of beast is this?”
“The one who will save your life many times, if indeed you plan to journey upon the yellow sea.” The drover’s voice was barrel-deep and oddly accented.
“I must,” Hyam replied.
“And it’s true, you lost your magical abilities in the fight with the red lord?”
“That is correct.”
Selim lifted the newborn and helped it move upon unsteady legs to the mother. She nuzzled her offspring, sniffed it from tail to head, then began licking it with great strokes of her broad tongue. He said to Hyam, “If you are indeed weaponless against the desert mages, all those who travel with us should first consign their souls to the infinite. I shall tell them that as well.”
“What can you tell me of the wizards in the yellow realm?”
“Not a thing, sahib, not even if they exist. But you have seen the damage wreaked upon the banker’s home. And those traveling from the realm’s interior speak of dark troubles. Nothing overt. But perilous just the same.”
Hyam found himself liking the burly drover. He discounted the man’s hostile gaze as merely part of the challenge ahead. “Jaffar is indeed fortunate to be served by such an astute chief drover.”
Something flickered in the drover’s gaze, but he merely sniffed and demanded, “Who are these two?”
“Alembord is a trusted soldier from the earl’s own garrison. Fareed is an acolyte serving in the Emporis citadel.”
“This one I have heard mentioned before.” Selim examined the young mage. “You served the trader Kasim?”
“Aye, sir. I did.”
“Is it true he sold you to the Falmouth mages?”
“Soon as I showed the first bit of talent,” Fareed confirmed. “Kasim dragged me into the earl’s palace at the end of a rope.”
“He is the worst of a bad lot. How old were you?”
“Eleven. The Mistress Edlyn paid him ten gold florins. It was the finest day of my life.”
“Careless with the lives of his charges, is Kasim. And a liar.” The drover shifted the newborn back to where it could suckle. He then rose to his feet and nodded to the servant holding the mother’s leash. “I’m surprised one of his own lot hasn’t done him in by now.”
Fareed kicked at the straw and did not reply.
The drover grunted and turned his attention back to Hyam. “I have served this noble house all my life. Many times I have lived with astonishments. But none like this.” He scowled at Hyam. “I am ordered to place my master’s caravan at your disposal! Have you ever trekked through desert?”
“I crossed the Galwyn Hills. Once.”
The drover spat. “They are nothing! Ripples across a gentle lake, nothing! Out there, the yellow sea waits to devour your bones! You think the fiends will hesitate because you once could call upon magic? The yellow realm holds mysteries beyond measure, dangers beyond count!”
“Do you share the merchant’s ability to speak with eagles?”
Again there was the flicker of something deep within that slanted gaze, but Selim merely replied, “I have more important duties. Like trying to keep my charges alive. The question you should be asking, effendi, is whether you are ready.”
“We’ll soon see,” Hyam replied. “I want to leave at dawn.”
“Dawn is not possible.” The drover gestured at the still-shivering newborn. “Three days, perhaps four.”
“We leave tomorrow.”
“Hurry breeds death, effendi.” He waited, clearly expecting more argument. But when Hyam remained silent, he grudgingly allowed, “Perhaps the caravan could be readied by noon.”