by Ross Hightower
in Issue 122, March 2022
Somehow, Nara pictured the life of a novice of the Seidi differently. When she was a young initiate in that magical sisterhood, she imagined herself protecting the weak, a bulwark against evil and greedy forces. Escorting an Imperial tax collector didn’t fit into any of her fantasies. In fact, after what she saw over the last month, it fell decidedly on the wrong side of that bulwark. The tax collector in question rode ahead of her, somehow still perching awkwardly in the saddle even after a month touring the villages along the northern frontier on horseback. She forgot his name almost as soon as he introduced himself and started thinking of him as Dusty. The name fit him. Everything about him was dry and dusty from the white, flyaway hair that sprouted from the sides of his head beneath his floppy hat to his chalky skin and sepia eyes. Even the monotonous drone of his voice sucked the joy from any conversation. It reminded her of the buzzing of the fat flies plaguing this part of the hot, dry central plains of the Empire.
At least she wasn’t the victim of the current lecture on the economics of tax policy. That pleasure fell to Sergeant Zaur, the commander of the squad of soldiers that made up their escort. Zaur glanced back at her, his eyes narrowing when he caught her smirking at him. He didn’t like her, making it clear what he thought of the decision to add a novice to the expedition from the outset and he never let her forget it. It didn’t help their relationship that Nara mentioned to the tax collector Zaur expressed an interest in the intricacies of tax policy. Nara would forever cherish the memory of Zaur’s stony expression as a delighted Dusty swooped down on him. Much to Nara’s amusement, Zaur, too polite by far, became Dusty’s favorite victim, riding beside him and regaling him with all manner of dry, dusty topics. While Zaur watched, Nara lifted her hand and brought forth a small flame that danced above her palm. She lifted it to her lips and blew it toward him before extinguishing it. If looks could kill.
Nara let her gaze drift over the vast, flat lands they had been crawling through for days. The grass bordering the Imperial Highway was dense and tall, rising to her chest in places. It was hot this time of year, and few trees blunted the sweltering sun. The only thing to recommend this bleak landscape was that the spirits enjoyed it. The lan’and, the land spirits, appeared to her as small, luminous orbs that skipped playfully across the top of the grass, dipping out of sight from time to time. She was one of the few people who could see them. Certainly, none of the other members of her party could. The Seidi taught her it was a sin to allow herself to see them, but she had no use for such foolishness. She knew what she saw, and besides, the little spirits were quite useful. While other initiates exchanged naughty secrets about them, Nara discovered the joy of communing with them, sneaking into the garden at night to experiment on her own. As a result, Nara was the most powerful novice produced by the Seidi in centuries because she delved so deeply into their secrets. The pinched old sisters in the Seidi were so proud, though Nara thought they gave themselves too much credit. They would likely hand her over to the Inquisition if they knew the truth. But who would tell them?
As they neared the top of what passed for a hill on the plains, Nara stood in her stirrups and gazed ahead. Smoke! They would be in Maintz tonight, the first city they had seen since they left it a month before. The fort in Maintz was little more than a way station for the caravans bringing goods from the north to be transported on the Odum River to the southern cities of Brennan and Ulm. But even so, there would be people, inns with baths and soft beds and, best of all, taverns. The prospect of escaping the company of their little party and spending the night in a tavern made her want to kick her horse into a gallop and race ahead, but Zaur would undoubtedly have her shot in the back if she tried it.
The late afternoon sun painted the stone walls of the Imperial fort gold when they finally arrived in Maintz. Zaur insisted the soldiers spend the night in the fort, but Nara was thrilled to discover Dusty desired the comforts of an inn and insisted she accompany him. Nara could have kissed his bald pate. Instead, she satisfied herself by winking at Zaur as they parted. They found rooms at one of the more staid inns located far away from the hustle and bustle near the fort. Nara used her own funds to pay for a private room and a bath.
Feeling clean for the first time in a month, she dressed in clean clothes she lugged around at the bottom of her pack for just this occasion. Feeling slightly heady with anticipation, she stepped into the inn’s common room, ready for fun. The room was quiet. So quiet, she could hear the clink of utensils as the few residents ate. This would not do. She was nearly to the door when someone called her name. It was Dusty, sitting at a table in the corner. He peered up through his bushy eyebrows at her, pushing peas onto his fork with his knife.
“I know the company of this old man is not sufficient for a young woman after so many days on the road, and I’m sure a novice of the Seidi can take care of herself, even in a city such as Maintz.” He waved his fork in the air, tossing a pea into the corner. “I would remind you, however, that we make an early start tomorrow.” He paused his assault on the peas, his brows rising disturbingly high.
“Yes, sir,” Nara said, unable to drag her eyes away from the small bushes jutting from his forehead. “I’ll be back early, I promise.”
He nodded and returned his attention to his plate.
Nara huffed as she pushed the door open. The man had treated her like a child since they left on this expedition. She was seventeen and a novice of the Seidi, for Daga’s sake. Was it her fault she looked like she was thirteen? Standing on the porch of the inn, she breathed in the scents of the city; wood smoke, roasting meat and the earthy aroma of animals, along with other, less appealing odors. It was wonderful. Although hot during the day, the plains cooled considerably at night in the dry climate. Pulling her cloak tighter, she listened carefully and was rewarded by the sound of a fiddle wafting from the direction of the fort. Smiling, she stepped off the porch and strode toward the sound.
The music was coming from one of a handful of taverns clustered near the fort’s front gate. From the outside, it appeared to be the least reputable of the choices, but the sounds emanating from it promised a good time. In her experience, this would be the tavern frequented by the enlisted men. Perfect! Crossing the street, she caught sight of the spirits outside of town. They didn’t like cities.
She paused outside the door to the tavern. Although technically of age, and a novice to boot, she’d been kicked out of more than one establishment because she didn’t look old enough. It’s not like she wanted to drink, not much anyway, she had other reasons to be there. Throwing the hood of her cloak back, she used her fingers to give her hair the proper wind-blown look. Then, taking a deep breath and adopting her best mysterious novice of the Seidi expression, she entered the tavern. To be honest, she was a bit disappointed. True, every eye turned her way, people whispering to one another, but the fiddle player in the far corner didn’t miss a beat and the jaunty jig he was playing set the wrong tone for her dramatic entrance. She would have to remember that.
She stood just inside the door, scanning the room. Most of the crowd consisted of soldiers and their companions, with some local merchants to break up the sea of blue uniforms. To her chagrin, she spotted the three soldiers in their merry party seated at a table next to the wall. Fortunately, she didn’t see Zaur. He didn’t strike her as a man who enjoyed taverns. She nodded to them, then wove through the tables to the bar, making sure her cloak billowed dramatically, an effect she actively practiced. Arriving at the bar, she gave the bartender a good view of the tattoo on the left side of her face, a mark of her rank, and said, “The darkest ale you have, please sir.”
He peered down his nose at her, arms crossed and one mossy eyebrow rising. Scars on his beefy arms testified to a life with a sword. Nara angled her head into the light, in case he failed to notice her tattoo. Slowly unfolding his arms and resting his slab like hands on the bar, he loomed over her, his other brow rising the join the first. Her dramatic entrance having failed, Nara was about to play her next card and remind him who she was when she heard a voice behind her.
“Nara!”
With a parting scowl, she turned her back to the bartender. A man waved to her, making his way across the room. It was a lieutenant named Werner she knew from her time in the capital. He was an okay sort and just the type of person she needed.
When Werner stepped up to the bar, Nara said, “Werner! Good to see you, what makes you come to this dive tonight?” Nara gave the bartender a sidelong look as she said the last two words.
“Oh, just in the mood for a lively atmosphere,” Werner said.
The bartender, watching this exchange, said, “Werner, you know this…girl?”
“Do I know this woman?” Werner asked. “I’ll have you know, Howland, this is Nara…Novice Nara Flynn, the greatest storyteller in the Empire.”
Nara grinned. This was exactly why she was happy Werner found her. He loved her stories. She couldn’t blame him, she told great stories. It was true most of them only distantly related to actual events, but no one complained.
“Two meads, Howland, if you please,” Werner said to the bartender’s skeptical grimace.
“Mead?” Nara asked. She knew what it was, of course, but she never tried it. It seemed a more serious drink than ale, and Nara wasn’t there to drink, she was there to perform. A drink was just a useful prop. A sip for a dramatic pause, a swallow to milk a punch line. It helped her bring the audience along with her, as if she shared a drink with them. Most nights, she would end the night with her tankard still half full.
“Trust me,” Werner said.
When the drinks arrived, Nara took an experimental sip. Wow! Sweet, but not too sweet, with floral notes of honey and blackberries. She took a bigger swallow and swished it around her mouth, moaning.
“Careful with that,” Werner said, “It packs more of a punch than the ale you usually drink.”
They made small talk, Nara waiting patiently, until Werner said, “Well, are you going to tell us a story?” When Nara grinned, he said, “Tell the one about the mayor and the milkmaid. I love that one!”
Half an hour later, Nara was in her element. She stood on the stage where the fiddler played. The musician, like the other patrons, leaned forward in her seat, waiting for the end of the story. She let them wait, stretching out the moment by taking a sip of her drink. Finally, she spread her arms wide and delivered the punch line, “But I only ordered butter.”
There was the moment, that delicious, frightening moment, when she stood on the precipice, waiting for the audience to catch up, to get the joke…or not. She waited, arms extended, smiling conspiratorially. And then the audience exploded in laughter, stomping, clapping, and hooting at her. She drank it in, bowing and taking another gulp of mead.
Some in the crowd called for more, but others took the opportunity to replenish their drinks and see to other needs. Always attuned to her audience, Nara noticed two men at the back of the tavern who didn’t seem to have caught the mood of the place. They leaned so close together that their heads nearly touched across their table. One of them was speaking heatedly, his long, greasy hair bobbing, emphasizing each word. Nara hadn’t seen much of the world yet, but she spent enough time in taverns to know what type of man he was. The other man listened, eyes on the table, his lips drawn tight. Greasy Hair sat back and dropped a small bag on the table. The other man took the bag, sagging back in his chair, revealing a young girl sitting between them. Only the top of her head was visible, russet-colored hair falling around her face. The girl looked up, catching Nara’s eye. Nara didn’t know much about children, but she looked younger than the new initiates at the Seidi, making her less than eight years old. They stared at one another for a moment, before emotion animated the girl’s lifeless expression. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, just as Greasy Hair snatched her arm and dragged her to her feet. He pulled her to the door and left without a glance backward. The last thing Nara saw, as the door closed, was a pale frightened face, round eyes piercing Nara.
Werner appeared before her, swaying on his feet. “Tell the one about your reluctant horse next. That’s a good one.”
“Yeah…okay,” Nara said absently, watching the other man, now alone at the table. In truth, she didn’t remember that particular story. She made it up on the fly months before, but Werner wouldn’t notice, anyway. The remaining man pulled himself upright and trudged toward the door. Lamplight glinted from the moisture on his cheeks. As he flung the door open and stepped into the night, Nara made a decision. She handed Werner her tankard and jumped down from the stage, nearly pitching head first into a table. Wow, Werner was right about that mead. She managed to reach the door, bouncing off people, tables and chairs on the way.
“Where you going?” Werner called as the door closed behind her.
The second man stood in the middle of the street, gazing away from the fort. Nara followed his eyes and found Greasy Hair and the little girl several blocks away just as they turned down a narrow alley. The girl dug her heels in, but the man yanked her wrist, and they disappeared from view. The man in the street turned and walked away. Nara started to jog toward where the girl disappeared. The chilly air outside helped to clear her head, but she needed help. Slipping into the alley next to the tavern, she found the lan’and flitting like fireflies in and out of the grass. They might not like the city, but they liked her. She concentrated on that spot behind her eyes, what the Alle’oss witches called her center, the spot where she connected to the spirit realms, and called her and’reoime, her spirit guide. This was why she sneaked into the gardens as a novice, why she sought the old witch when she first became a novice and was allowed to leave the Seidi. Within moments, the little spirit burst into her center, swooping joyfully in her mind. Nara sucked in a breath and let the spirit fill her up with its joy at their reunion. The spirit washed away the effects of the alcohol and eased the aches and fatigue accumulated over a month in the saddle. Of course, she could have called the spirit earlier for that last bit, but she thought it disrespectful to use her spirit guide for such trivial needs.
When she was ready, the spirit making itself at home in her center, she hurried down the street to where the pair disappeared and peeked around the corner into the alley. No one moved, but it was hard to see anything in the dark. Pulling her hood down to hide her pale face, she eased around the corner and crept down the alley. Nothing but a few barrels, crates, and piles of paraphernalia used on the cargo boats that plied the Odum River. The other end of the alley opened onto the river. A small dock jutted out from the bank, the only sound, the river, gurgling placidly against the dock’s piles. If the man and girl boarded a boat, she was out of luck. She stepped onto the dock to search for a boat on the river when a door opened behind her. Ducking into the shadows at the edge of the alley, she pressed herself flat to the building and dipped her head to obscure her face.
“Just get them ready. The boat will be here at midnight, and it won’t wait. I’ve got to go get Edmond.” She risked a peek. The dim light admitted into the alley by the open door illuminated Greasy Hair, before he slammed the door shut, throwing the alley into darkness again. The man’s footsteps receded as he walked away.
Nara pressed her ear to the door. Low, indistinct voices. Stepping away from the door, she searched the side of the building. There was no obvious way in or onto the roof, at least not on this side. Though she didn’t need to speak out loud to talk to her spirit guide, she closed her eyes and murmured, “I need to see in that building.” The spirit swooped once around her mind and was gone. When she opened her eyes, the little ball of light was disappearing through a small gap between the shutters of a high window. Settling into the shadows near the far end of the alley, she waited. Moments later, it returned, emerging excitedly in her center. Nara closed her eyes, and she was looking down into a dimly lit room through what appeared to be rafters. The building was a warehouse, and the room in the vision was some sort of break room or administrative office. Six children sat on the floor along the wall opposite what Nara took for the exterior door. The russet-haired girl from the tavern sat at the end of the row. Five men sat around a table in the center of the room, playing cards. The image drifted into a second, smaller room where a man sat at a desk, talking to two men seated opposite him.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the spirit, its jubilant response bringing a smile to her lips.
This was it. Her heroic fantasies come to life. Not helping an old tax collector rob poor farmers of their meager funds. Eight men, plus Greasy Hair, who left to get Edmond. Ten, if you threw in Edmond. The men looked like they could take care of themselves, as well. The Seidi taught her hand-to-hand combat, but realistically, a person Nara’s size would stand little chance against so many. But she wouldn’t need to fight them. It would be tricky to take them all without hurting the children, but it could be done. But how? Her greatest gift was fire, she was known for it. Nara tapped the wooden planks on the exterior of the building. Fire would be too dangerous. She might kill the children and burn down half the city. But she had other gifts. She could smash the door in easily, but it would be risky. The shrapnel would hit everyone in the room, and the children would be in the line of fire from the doorway. She pictured herself dropping from the rafters onto the table where the men played cards, cloak flying out dramatically behind her. From that close, she could take them out without causing collateral damage…probably. Then it would be no problem to handle the men in the other room when they came running. Now she just had to figure out how to get into the building and up into the rafters.
She found what she needed on the side facing the river. A long quay ran the width of the building. A crane for moving cargo in and out of boats jutted up from one end. The counterweight on the end of the loading arm rested just above the water, and the pulley on the other end rested against the building above a large open door used to access cargo in the upper floor of the warehouse. She sent her spirit guide inside to get the lay of the land. The top floor of the warehouse was mostly empty. The planks that made up the floor ended at the edge of the room with the children, leaving the room open to the rafters. Running nimbly up the arm, she leapt inside, then careful to walk near the wall to reduce the chance for squeaks, she made her way to the room and peered down into it from the shadows.
It was a long drop to the table, and she would have to get above the table without being seen. While she considered her options, the door to the alley opened, admitting four men. Greasy Hair entered first, talking to someone over his shoulder. When the other men appeared, she was stunned to see they wore Imperial uniforms, one of them sporting a captain’s bars. The captain and the Greasy Hair disappeared through the door into the office. The remaining soldiers joined the men sitting at the table.
She could handle twelve men…probably. Maybe. The presence of Imperial soldiers complicated matters, though. If she attacked them, she would eventually have to explain herself. Nara winced, imagining how that conversation would go. Although she would describe herself as irreverent, others, people in authority, often described her as brash and irresponsible. There were the children, of course, as witnesses, but it might come down to her word against the captain’s. It was also possible corruption in the garrison extended higher than the captain.
She needed help. Sergeant Zaur. Say what you will about his grumpy disposition, he appeared to be honest to a fault. Very quietly, she reversed her course, until she made it to the street and sprinted toward the fort.
One of the two guards at the front gate said, “Halt! Where do you think you’re going?” planting himself in her path.
Nara skidded to a stop, managing to say, between breaths, “I’ve got to speak to Sergeant Zaur. He arrived this afternoon.”
“It’s a little late for that. Visiting hours are over,” the guard said, snickering at his joke and glancing at his companion.
Nara didn’t have time for this. She lifted her hands to her sides, palms up and sent roaring gouts of flame twenty feet into the air. The man stumbled backward, tripped, and sat in the dust. Nara leaned over him and said, “I’d like to speak to Sergeant Zaur, now. If I can’t go to him, you can go get him and bring him here.”
The man scrambled to his feet and disappeared through the gate at a run. The other guard startled when Nara looked his way and ducked inside the guardhouse.
Long minutes passed before Zaur emerged, hair tousled and eyes puffy. “What in Daga’s name do you want?” he said, an uncharacteristic edge of anger in his voice.
“Slavers.”
Zaur blinked. “Slavers?”
“Yes. I was…well, I was in a tavern and I noticed some suspicious men, so I followed them. They’ve got a bunch of children, and I heard them say they’re shipping them down the river at midnight.”
“Yes, I heard about the tavern,” Zaur said, adopting that expression that drove Nara to distraction; his disappointed father expression. “Something about a mayor and milkmaid.” Not even a ghost of a grin. His men clearly didn’t tell the story right.
Nara swallowed her annoyance, planted her hands on her hips, and said, “You’re missing the important part, sergeant. They have children and they’re shipping them down the river, to be sold as slaves.” When he didn’t react, she raised her voice. “Children.”
Zaur glanced over his shoulder at the guardhouse where the two men hid and pulled Nara farther from the gate. “How many men?”
“Twelve.”
“Couldn’t you, you know, handle them?” He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I mean, you are a novice of the Seidi.” The ghost of a sarcastic smirk.
Nara tried unsuccessfully to keep her impatience out of her voice. “Well, I was about to when the Imperials showed up.”
Zaur’s face froze. “Imperials?”
Finally, he appeared interested. “Yeah. Three of them and one of them is a captain.” Nara took a breath, dipped her head, then met his eyes. “I thought it prudent to have witnesses.”
“That was very…wise.” Surprise? Really?
“It’s been known to happen.” Nara’s temper flared. “You let me know the first day what you thought of me, and you haven’t let me forget it.”
The disappointed father expression again. “I disapproved of you being two hours late. If you remember, we missed our boat and had to ride from Brennan to Maintz, putting us days behind schedule.”
Nara felt heat on her face. “Did I…I did do that, didn’t I?” When he merely watched her, waiting, she threw her arms out to her sides, saying, “Well, this isn’t what I expected when I became a novice, escorting some tax collector to the middle of nowhere.”
“You think this was what I was thinking when I enlisted?”
“You didn’t look like you minded it.”
“That’s because it’s my duty, which I take seriously.” He didn’t continue, but Nara got the point.
The sergeant waited a moment and then said, “Okay, let’s go.”
Nara, caught off guard, glanced at the fort. “Just you?”
“My men enjoyed the tavern a little too much.” When Nara stared at him, he asked, “What? Didn’t you say you could handle this yourself?”
“Yes. Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? Right.” Nara gave him a small nod. Studying the stars, she said, “It’s almost midnight. We better hurry.”
Peering around the corner into the alley, Zaur tapped the wooden planks of the warehouse, and asked, “You’re not planning to use that fire thing, are you?”
“No, of course not. That wouldn’t be wise.” Glancing at his shadowy face, she was amazed to see the flash of his teeth.
“What is the plan?” he asked.
“You wait by the door down there. Just…not right next to it.” She hesitated, but not quite sure what she was going to do, she added, “Be ready for whatever,” then slipped around the corner.
Nara studied the men from her perch in the rafters of the warehouse. Seven men still sat at the table, clustered on the end opposite the office door. They were packing up their cards and arguing over their winnings. The boat would arrive soon with the possibility of more men; still, Nara hesitated. She didn’t plan on killing anyone, intentionally, but in reality, many of these men would be injured or killed. She leaned out to look down at the children huddled at the base of the wall. The girl with the russet hair, the back of her head resting against the wall, met Nara’s eyes, recognition crossing her face. Nara lifted her finger to her lips and the girl’s head snapped toward the men, unhelpfully.
Nara threw her connection to the spirit realms wide open and called the lan’and. In moments, a swirling storm of the spirits joined her spirit guide. She always felt as if she stood at the center of a roaring vortex when she allowed them into her center. She took a moment to experience their joy. This was why the old, prudish sisters of the Seidi condemned the spirits; magic wasn’t supposed to be pleasurable. The spirit’s elation washed away her anxiety and doubt.
Now or never. Despite her vision of herself dropping into the midst of the slavers, her cloak flying out behind her, Nara decided the cloak would be a hindrance. Leaving it on the floor, she took a deep breath, then danced lightly along the rafter until she stood above the table. At the last moment, one of the men glanced up. He froze, a fatal moment in which he tried to grasp what he saw. His mouth opened as Nara stepped into air and dropped. It was a long way down, but the lan’and could temporarily boost her strength. Not a lot, but enough to let her legs absorb the impact on the table without injury, assuming she landed right. Unfortunately, the table was not up to the task. The legs near the office door collapsed. Nara, who dropped facing the men at the end of the table, fell forward on her face and then slid down the tilting tabletop until her feet came to rest against the office door. She heard herself scream as her ankle twisted. The spirits could strengthen her, but they didn’t make her invulnerable. She rolled onto her back just as the office door opened. The captain’s shocked face stared down at her.
Nara lifted her hand, sending a thought to the spirits. The old witch called it an and’eoset, which she said roughly translated as spirit wave. The wave rippled down her arm, exploded into the captain and the men standing behind him, lifting them and throwing them back into the office. The door swung inward, crashing against the wall. The impact aside, the effect of an energetic wave on the victim’s internal organs and brain could be traumatic. Nara didn’t think she killed them, but they wouldn’t be getting up soon. The slavers and the two soldiers sitting at the table were recovering from their surprise, shouting and wrestling with the tabletop. Children screamed and scrambled to get out of the way. The men lifted their end of the table so that it tilted up, lifting Nara onto her feet and shoving her into the office. She managed to turn toward the door on her good ankle and found the door blocked by the table. Her sudden appearance in their midst threw the men into confusion. They clustered on the other side of the door, shouting over one another, arguing over what happened and what they should do. Hoping the children were smart enough to stay down, Nara lifted her hands and blasted the table clear of the door. When the dust and splinters cleared, Nara took a hobbling step through into the other room. Two men, holding large knives, illuminated by the dim light leaking from the office, stood in front of the huddled children.
Nara aimed a wave at the door to the alley, imploring the spirits for extra intensity. The door exploded outward with a deafening crack.
The two men standing near the children, seeing an escape route, threw their knives at Nara and scrambled toward the exit. Nara released a slower, denser form of the and’eoset, and the knives pinged against the shield and fell to the floor. Zaur appeared in the door just as the first man made it to the exit. The man stopped abruptly and Zaur punched him with the hilt of his sword, dropping him. The last slaver raised his hands and backed toward the wall opposite Nara.
Zaur stepped into the room, scanning the destruction, his sword pointed toward the last slaver.
Nara checked the office and found the men on the floor behind the desk. She was oddly relieved to hear low moans and see feeble movements. After letting the lan’and go, her spirit guide healed her ankle, and she sent it on its way with her warm gratitude. The lan’and didn’t like to be away from their own kind for long. When she returned to the other room, she caught sight of a flash of red and then was nearly knocked from her feet by the girl from the tavern. The girl wrapped her arms around Nara, and said, “I told them! I told them I saw a Seidi sister, and she was going to save us. I knew you would come.” Nara patted her on the back, grimacing in embarrassment. Suddenly, chattering children surrounded her, bouncing, hugging her and each other. Nara looked helplessly at Zaur. His expression was so unfamiliar, it took her a moment to recognize it as pride and admiration.
Dawn was a rumor on the eastern horizon when they finished turning the children over to the authorities and explaining what happened, repeatedly, to the garrison commanding officer. The russet-haired girl, Sara, was joyfully reunited with her frantic mother.
Nara couldn’t help being annoyed by the high spirits of the three soldiers in their party the next morning. After getting so drunk they couldn’t help with the slavers, it didn’t seem fair only she and Zaur suffered. The soldiers assuaged her pique a bit when they expressed an interest in hearing more stories.
Zaur seemed as annoyed with the trio as she. To Nara, who essentially had no parents after entering the Seidi at eight, her feelings towards the older man were complex and unfamiliar. She spent most of the busy night after rescuing the children, contemplating why his approval affected her so much. She didn’t know, but the small grin he shared with her that morning was so much better than the disapproving glares she earned from him previously, she decided it didn’t matter.
Dusty stepped out on the porch of the inn, disapproval written across his pale features. “I am not surprised that Nara did not follow my advice, but I’m quite disappointed in you, Sergeant Zaur. I would have thought you a man of greater prudence.” Zaur’s puffy eye twitched, but he gave no other indication he was annoyed. Looking up at the sky, Dusty said, “Well, you two will have to pay for your sins today. It should be quite warm and, unfortunately, there are no boats on which we can book passage.”
Once they were underway, Dusty said to Zaur, “A very successful, and sedate, expedition, sergeant. I owe that, at least in part, to your steady leadership. Of course, it is not always so. The tax revolt of 850 was a special study of mine, and I can tell you, it was a bloody time.”
Catching the pained look on Zaur’s face, Nara slowed her horse until she was between Zaur and the tax collector. “Excuse me, sir, but I would love to hear about the revolt. I’d find it very instructive.” Zaur’s grateful glance was almost reward enough for the next three hours. Almost.
©March 2022, Ross Hightower
Ross Hightower‘s first novel Spirit Sight is due out in September from Black Rose Writers. This is his first appearance in Swords & Sorcery.