17 The patron’s house

When he awoke, the first thing Dashvara did was take a look around, searching for the shadow. He didn’t find it, and he sighed, relieved. However well he knew that his conversation with that creature the day before hadn’t been a dream, he couldn’t help convincing himself that he had been hallucinating and raving because of those strange powders.

But still… Dashvara peered once again at the corners of the room. This one was lit by the sunlight, but the corners were still a bit dark. On a sudden impulse, he lay down on his belly and looked under the bed. He screwed his eyes up, and at the very moment when he heard the doorknob turning, he distinguished in the shadows five black-as-night fingers that were jiggling as if to greet him.

“Brother!” Fayrah said, entering the room. She stopped, startled. “What are you doing?”

Pale, Dashvara swallowed, and he sat on the bed correctly.

“Oh… Nothing. Just exploring the zone.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Intense worry showed on his sister’s face. She had changed her golden tunic into a red skirt and a blouse. Her straight, long dark hair tumbled down to her waist. And despite all that had happened, her eyes were still calm and limpid like two rising lights. She was more beautiful than ever, Dashvara smiled. He stretched a hand to her.

“Come, little sis.”

Fayrah took a step forward as if hesitating. Then, tears welled up in her eyes, and seconds later, she was embracing Dashvara, holding him in a tight grip.

Her sobs broke his heart. Dashvara would have liked to tell her that, once the revenge accomplished, everything would be as before. But, obviously, he hadn’t the power to revive the dead, so he just enclosed her in his arms and tried to console her wordlessly.

“Dash,” Fayrah stuttered after a long silence, without moving away. “You don’t know how many times I wished I hadn’t got out alive of our home.”

“Don’t think about it,” he recommended. “Now you’re alive, and you’re with me, thanks to the Eternal Bird.”

Fayrah sniffed, and she drew away, her eyes glittering.

“It wasn’t thanks to the Eternal Bird, Dash. I… I’m a coward,” she confessed. Her words were flowing from her mouth hastily. “Mother let me in charge of our little brothers. She went to get Misadeya. To kill her. And she told me to kill Mildran and Saodar so that the savages wouldn’t murder them. When she came back, she got very angry because… I hadn’t dared.” She let out a sob, and Dashvara grasped her by the arm, trying to comfort her. “When she wanted to kill me… I ran away. And the last thing she said to me was that, from that moment on, I wasn’t her daughter anymore.”

For a long moment, Dashvara was unable to speak. On one hand, he understood the desperate act of Dakia of Xalya. All in all, Mildran and Saodar would have died anyway. Vifkan’s blood ran in their veins. They were condemned beforehand. However, his sister, for some reason, had been left alive.

He wiped away a tear rolling down Fayrah’s cheek, and she did the same with his own.

“I lied about my identity,” Fayrah whispered. “I said I was the daughter of a shepherd.” She drew a deep breath. “I renounced the Eternal Bird, Dash. I lost my honor, and yet, I don’t want to give up my life. We don’t have to feel ashamed,” she affirmed. “I’ve never been a true Xalya.”

She thinks I fled too, Dashvara realized, surprised. He was going to tell her the truth, but something stopped him. He shook his head. His lord father would have certainly felt utter scorn for his daughter’s cowardice. But Dashvara only felt compassion for the inner conflict that seemed to be consuming the girl. After all, who in his right mind would have chosen to die when able to live? He would, perhaps; but not Fayrah.

“Don’t dwell on it,” he advised her. “Xalya lands have fallen, and our people with them. You owe nothing to anyone but yourself, Fayrah. Know what? It was to see you as a prisoner that helped me not to give up and to get here.” He smiled. “We saved each other, and now we have to go on.”

Fayrah kept a dark expression.

“Go on… what for, brother? I feel like a ghost that lives after having left its body and doesn’t dare to die.”

Dashvara suppressed a grimace, wondering what the shadow lying under his bed could think about that.

“Lessi spent whole days unable to pronounce a word,” Fayrah continued. “She saw captain Zorvun fighting against five Akinoas. And Aligra,” she went on, in a whisper. “I had never heard her scream, and when she saw our brother Showag’s red helmet…”

Dashvara’s face hardened, and he decided he had heard enough.

“Don’t think back, sister. It’s pointless. They will remain in our hearts, but don’t cry more for them.” With his middle finger and his forefinger, he touched his sister’s forehead, and he whispered: “Nandrivá, sîzin, halur hunástaram.” —‘Please, sister, don’t make me cry’. Dashvara breathed in, and he smiled at Fayrah. “I assure you you’ve always been a Xalya. And, whatever you say, you still are. I remember full well how you used to teach the shaard philosophic lessons. A question of yours kept him confined to his contemplation tower for hours. You remember that?” Fayrah nodded, and they both laughed quietly. Dashvara affirmed in a joking tone: “Only a Xalya could drive a shaard mad.” He recovered his seriousness as he stretched a hand to lift her chin. “A Xalya woman never lets herself be swept away by despair. No matter how strong the wind is, the feather keeps standing. We may have lost everything, but now we’ve got to bring ourselves back to life. And I need you.”

Fayrah seemed to make a real effort to fight back her tears, but when she gave a smile at him, her smile did not quiver.

“Now you are our Lord of Xalya,” she whispered. “I know you’ll protect us.” Her eyes sparkled. “I… I don’t want to be a prisoner of anyone, Dash. Never again.”

Dashvara took her face with both hands, and he kissed her affectionately on the top of the head.

“I will protect the three of you with all my heart. And now,” he added, standing up, “let’s go eat something. It’s been a whole day since I ate anything. I could eat a whole flock of goats!”

Fayrah laughed, and she rose to her feet too.

“I see you’re feeling better. Rowyn says it’s a miracle this venom didn’t kill you.”

“Why, it’s totally normal,” Dashvara replied in a light tone. “After all, isn’t it true that captain Zorvun said I was faster than a red snake? Its venom cannot catch me.”

Fayrah rolled her eyes, and she left the room first. Following her, Dashvara rubbed his own eyes, and a sarcastic pout twisted his face.

You ask your sister not to cry, and there you are, crying like a baby, he thought with derision. He had better go eat and stop being too sentimental.

In the living room, they found Aligra and Lessi breaking their fast and talking to Rowyn. As a matter of fact, Rowyn was the only one who was talking: Lessi was staring at him, fascinated, and Aligra didn’t avert her eyes from the fried egg she had in front of her. The Pearl Brother’s voice became slightly infuriated as he was telling a story:

“‘Impossible’, said then the wizard Bramanil to the pirates. ‘I still have my spell book! If you don’t give me my rod, you ignorant fools, I will change you all into hairy and ugly frogs!’” Lessi giggled, and Rowyn grinned broadly, interrupting himself. “Lord of Xalya! How did you sleep?”

For an instant, Dashvara stopped near the table, wondering if the blond was making fun of him by using such a name, but only kindness showed in republican’s eyes.

“Fine, thanks,” he answered. He took a look over the table. There was bread, cheese, fruits, fried eggs… He didn’t think twice before sitting down and starting to help himself.

Rowyn smiled, and he made as if to comment something, when Lessi asked:

“Did they give his rod back?”

“Oh… Yes. Well, not directly. The wizard began to whisper strange words. His voice resounded like Death itself. It was frightening. The pirates were so scared that they threw themselves over the gunwale, leaving the ship deserted and without any boats. ‘Damned cowards’, Bramanil muttered. As he couldn’t sail the ship by himself, he picked up his rod, freed his cat Mawrus, and made a raft. And with his rod, he crafted an oar. He abandoned the ship—”

“And why didn’t he use some magic spell to sail the ship?” Lessi broke in.

Rowyn made a slight, mysterious smile.

“You want to know why? You will know it very soon. The wizard and the cat paddled until they reached the coast of Dazbon thanks to a light and fair wind. Bramanil went back home leaning on the rod, and when he arrived, his sons welcomed him in all happiness. He told them what happened, and he said joyfully: ‘I had no sooner said, ‘potato, salt, sesame, leek: saffron crocus, poppy seed,’ than they let me in peace. Who would have thought that a shepherd’s crook and a cookbook would save my life from these credulous pirates!’”

Lessi laughed, Fayrah and Dashvara smiled, and Aligra tossed her head up as if wondering what was happening.

“As I was telling your lovely friends, this is one of the many adventures about the shepherd Bramanil and his cat Mawrus the Wrecker,” Rowyn explained cheerfully. “They’re old-fashioned, but when I was a kid, all my comrades knew the adventure with the pirates and a lot more by heart.”

Still smiling, Dashvara turned his eyes to see Azune appear in a doorway. She wore a dark dress very similar to the ones worn by those two mysterious men Dashvara had seen in the inn of the Cathoney. But, come to think of it, perhaps these hadn’t been two men, but a man and a woman. Rowyn and Azune.

“At least the venom doesn’t seem to make him lack appetite,” the elf woman pointed out.

Dashvara perceived mockery in her voice, but the coldness that was gleaming in her eyes the day before had flown away.

“Nothing like a good breakfast to heal a sick person,” Rowyn smiled.

“If you say it, it may be true,” Azune commented. She sat down at the head of the table as swiftly as a cat. Were the Pearl Brothers warriors? Dashvara wondered. He gulped down a big piece of egg hungrily.

“Actually, I feel totally recovered,” the Xalya affirmed. “Tell me, as we’re going to see this Supreme, I would like to know a bit more about your clan.”

Rowyn frowned an eyebrow, grinning.

“Our clan?” he repeated. “It’s not a clan, steppeman. It’s a Brotherhood. It’s a kind of… corporation in which we help each other. And each of us has a specialty.” When he noticed that Dashvara’s eyes were sparkling with curiosity, he proceeded: “Look. We’re quite a few. We have a team sort of varied with four official members, and an acolyte. Azune and I are investigators. We have an ancient reformed thief—”

Azune chuckled sarcastically.

“Haw! Reformed, he says…”

Rowyn snorted.

“Azune, please.” He cleared his throat. “We also have a retired dragon-monk of the Order of Sifra. A celmist disintegrator—that’s the acolyte—and of course…” —he smiled, and he swept his arm around the room while adding—: “a rich patron that permits us to enter some domains when they’re not occupied.”

“And we also have a bigmouth who says anything to the strangers,” Azune cut off bitingly.

Rowyn joined both hands as if to summon his patience.

“Azu,” he pronounced mildly. “Our Brotherhood isn’t exactly a secret nest. You’ve already seen how Dashvara is. He’s an honorable man. He shares our point of view.”

“Oh, really?” She looked at Dashvara with a teasing pout. “Please note, steppeman, that Rowyn knows exactly how you think. Scary, eh? Not only has he a flair for talking like a bigmouth, but he’s also a mind reader master—that’s for sure.”

“Azu!” Rowyn protested. Dashvara hardly stifled a smile. “I didn’t mention that I am the captain of the band, so in theory, all the members should treat me with respect.”

The elf gave him a beaming smile.

“Who treated you with disrespect, Duke? Just tell me who and I beat him up,” she assured.

Rowyn shook his head as if giving the conversation up for lost, and he rose, making the chair scrape.

“I’d better move on. I will watch over the north way, in case a caravan comes. You stay here, Azu. Have a nice day, you all.”

He was already crossing the doorway when Azune let out a snort and ran after him, to the hall. Dashvara clearly distinguished her voice.

“Rowyn, you can’t ask me to stay. You know full well I hate sitting around twiddling my thumbs…”

The exit door slightly creaked when it opened. Rowyn’s voice had a tinge of exasperation when he spoke.

“Azu, we all agreed to make me the captain of the band, do you remember that? When I give you an order, I want you to obey. If you get bored, talk with our guests. You may be my sister, but when it comes to working, you are, above all, a member of the Brotherhood, do you understand?”

There was a silence, and then the noise of a door getting shut. Dashvara saw Fayrah and Lessi exchanging curious looks. When Azune came back to the living room, her eyes were on fire.

The way she looks, I guess she has not enjoyed Rowyn’s speech, Dashvara noticed, amused. So Azune and he were brother and sister. That affirmation didn’t make sense. He was human whereas she had pointed ears like the elves. Dashvara was already helping himself to the fifth fried egg when Fayrah, who must have followed the same path of thinking, inquired:

“I don’t understand. How can he be your brother if he is human and you are an elf?”

Pronounced by anyone else, the question might sound meddling, but Fayrah had a talent for asking anything without appearing inquisitive.

Azune sat down again at the head of the table, and for a moment, Dashvara thought she wasn’t going to answer. Finally, she sighed as if she had come to a conclusion.

“I am not an elf: I’m a half-elf. And Rowyn isn’t a human: he’s a kampraw. We have the same father, but his mother is a caitian, and mine is an elf. Are you satisfied?”

Fayrah blushed.

“Sorry. Well, you know, in the steppe we saw nothing but humans, eh, Lessi? It’s quite confusing to see that variety of… people.”

The half-elf looked at her without answering. All of them had finished breakfast, and the silence lasted. Dashvara felt more vigorous, and he would have gladly gone out and taken a walk if the guard weren’t looking far and wide for him in Rocavita.

“Well,” he said, suddenly breaking the silence. “Since we can’t go out of here, it might be interesting to know more things about that Pearl Brotherhood.” He waited for some seconds. Under the look of the four Xalyas, Azune didn’t even flinch. Dashvara let out a sigh, but he didn’t give up. “Who is this Supreme?”

Azune shrugged, and her brown eyes roamed over him.

“The Supreme’s name is Sheroda. And when Rowyn introduces you to her, she will send you frying snakes in the dragon’s mouth. But don’t tell Rowyn the Duke, because he’s the captain, after all, and he does anything he wants.”

Dashvara raised his eyes to the heavens at her grumbling tone.

“Why do you think Rowyn shouldn’t introduce me to the Supreme?” he asked after a silence.

A surprised half-smile curved Azune’s lips.

“Why do I think he shouldn’t introduce you to her? Ha. What a question to ask.” She smiled, shaking her head, and under Dashvara’s inquiring look, she set a serious face and concluded: “I won’t tell the captain what to do, but in my view—and there’s nothing personal—the Pearl Brotherhood doesn’t need help from anyone. And let alone from foreigners coming from the back of beyond. No offense meant, of course.”

She had joined her hands and was twiddling her thumbs, slightly nervous.

“Have you already had breakfast?” she added sharply. “Do you need anything else?”

Fayrah smiled pleasantly.

“No, thank you—”

“So,” the half-elf cut her off, “unless you’re intending to go on with the conversation, I suggest you go back to your rooms and don’t make too much noise.”

After a few seconds, Lessi and Fayrah got up to their feet, obediently, and headed for the stairs. Without warning, Dashvara burst into laughter, and four surprised gazes fixed upon him. He hadn’t budge an inch. Truth to tell, Azune’s behavior amused him more than it annoyed him.

“Guess what, I was intending to go on with the conversation,” he said, smiling teasingly. “You see, now that I’m neither fainting nor casting bolts nor spitting blood, I’ve felt, all of a sudden, a symptom that is worrying me.”

Aligra gazed at him strangely intently under her sleepy eyelids. Azune’s lips were pressed.

“A new symptom?”

“It’s called, ‘Pointed ignorance about the Republic of Dazbon’,” Dashvara explained. “And I thought you could heal it.”

Azune remained puzzled. Bit by bit, a smile curved her lips.

“Of course I can heal it.” She stood up. “Follow me.”

Dashvara raised an eyebrow and wavered for a bit before leaving the room, followed by the three Xalyas. Azune guided them to a closed double-leaf door. She pushed it open, and with a sweeping gesture, invited them to enter.

“Here you are: your medicine.”

The room had two big racks full of books, big and small, thin and thick. Dashvara snorted laughingly.

“Your skill as a healer amazes me. It’s slow medicine, but effective in the long run, I guess.”

Azune gave the hint of a bantering smile.

“Knowledge is only noticeable in the long run.” A light full of curiosity gleamed in her eyes. “Well, I take it you can read.”

“We all can read,” Dashvara affirmed. “We were the last shaard’s disciples of the Eternal Bird.”

“Oh…” Azune looked as if pondering on the matter. “So perhaps you all want to settle down in the room and heal that pointed ignorance. You’ll need two extra seats. I’ll get you that.”

“Don’t bother,” Dashvara hastened to assure. “I’ll get them, thank you.”

Azune’s face softened, and when Dashvara went to get two chairs from the living room, he smiled inside.

You’ve just gotten rid of us like an expert, half-elf.

The four Xalyas settled down in the mysterious patron’s small library. After a little hesitation, Dashvara let the door open before sitting down comfortably in the empty armchair. He noticed that this was the most comfortable of all, and when Fayrah asked him if he needed some help to find a particular piece of information, Dashvara raised an eyebrow.

“So far, no, thanks,” he replied as he opened the first book he had picked from one shelf.

The volume was relatively light, and the scribe’s handwriting was neat and clear. Dashvara was so used to seeing the typical flourishes and curlicues of the old books in the dungeon that he felt surprised. The book was entitled The Most Illustrious City of Dazbon: plans and chronology. He had never taken a particular interest in the History of far countries, but as Dazbon was now just a few hours on horseback away from where he was, studying it was starting to be an activity more understandable.

He only took a glance through some old drawings of the city preceding the year 5500, skimmed the hundred next years recognizing some names of well-known senators, and his eyes stopped on the name of “Zafandria Andeyed”, woman born in 5530 and ancient senator of Dazbon. Zafandria Andeyed, he repeated mentally. Wasn’t Zaadma’s father a certain Sarfath Andeyed? He kept on reading, and he understood that the Andeyed family was one of the twelve patrician families of the republic. That Zafandria had led the Senate for eight years, during which time she had conquered the mines of Maeras and founded the Order of Sifra. Once again, Dashvara paused. Didn’t Rowyn say that there was, in his band, a retired member of the Order of Sifra? From what he read, the dragon-monks of that Order were the most important road guardians in the Dazbonish domains. Despite such “achievements” throughout her career, the senator master was blamed for gross negligence toward maritime security, since, in that period, piracy had started to cause big problems. In the year 5602, she was succeeded by a certain Licente Faerecio, who used all the republican navy to fight against a real pirate armada. He suffered a crushing defeat, and the magistrate chamber claimed a punishment for such bad governing. Licente Faerecio was removed from power, though—Dashvara raised an eyebrow—he was crowned by the White Dragon for the good relations established with the Federal State of Diumcili.

It’s no wonder, Dashvara thought ironically, that if that Licente Faerecio is the selfsame I heard talking with Arviyag in his pavilion, he certainly has wonderful relations with Diumcili and its slavers.

The chronology stopped in the year 5612, that is twenty years ago, and it ended with a plan of Dazbon that showed in capital letters the six main districts of the city: the Dragon District, the Autumn District, the Kwata District, the Beautiful District, the Dawn District, and the Docks District. This page was slightly faded, and it took some time for Dashvara to guess at the meaning of the smallest letters. Some indicated the water canals in the Dragon District, on the shore. Others located the Senate, the four Time Towers, and some more monuments Dashvara had never heard of. In the background, he could guess the shape of a dragon twisting as if to embrace the town with its claws so as to watch over it… or so as to crush it.

Dashvara shut the book and took the next in the pile he had arranged. This one was written in Oy’vat, the Ancient King’s speech. This mere oddity appealed to him in the same way that gold appeals to a Shalussi. According to Maloven, the Oy’vat was a language almost completely forgotten by everyone save the Xalyas. So what was a book written in the Wise Tongue doing on the bookshelf of a Dazbonish patron? Oniri’l soen, the title went. The foundations of knowledge.

As soon as he opened it, he stifled an astonished grimace, noticing that all the page margins were filled with annotations written in Common Tongue. They were some translation attempts, he understood. In the beginning, the book reasoned about health and life, and further on, it dealt with plants and remedies. After some pages, the annotations became less and less frequent, until they disappeared utterly.

He got tired of trying to translate it, it would seem, Dashvara smiled. After reading several annotations, he realized that its author didn’t know much about the Oy’vat language. That way, the sentence, “Just as the body must be healthy, so must be the curative plants” had changed, in the Common Tongue, into “Living beings, as a natural condition, have a body to keep healthy”. Dashvara smiled to himself and then shook his head, lifting his eyes to the Xalyas. Fayrah’s gaze was fixing a geography book, though she did not seem to be reading. Lessi, sitting on the ground next to one of the racks, was admiring colored pictures. As for Aligra, she was twiddling with a wooden cube in her hand. Dashvara felt nervous when he realized that her large eyes were riveted on him.

Why, is it that I have some egg leftovers in my beard, and that’s why she looks at me with that gloomy expression?

Dashvara was aware of the great love Showag professed towards that young girl with a face uncommonly pale for a steppewoman. He recalled that his mother did not think much of her and was afraid that Showag would end up marrying her. Dashvara had never spoken much with her, but he had confidence that, if Showag loved her, she certainly was not as mad as some said. Though, outwardly, she did not look so…

Averting his eyes from her troubling gaze, he looked back at the plant book. He was turning the page when Aligra, speaking in the Wise Tongue, said in a level voice:

“You should have died.”

Dashvara tossed his head up, and despite his confusion, he smiled. In Oy’vat, he answered:

“So it’s a very good thing I didn’t, don’t you think?”

Fayrah and Lessi had remained motionless, looking at them both alternately. Aligra’s face was as hard as stone.

“You are Lord Vifkan’s firstborn,” she hissed.

Dashvara’s lips stretched in a bitter smile.

“Really? It’s good of you to remind me.”

“You escaped from the dungeon leaving your people behind!” Aligra accused him.

Dashvara frowned. He had never seen her so upset. Glancing at Fayrah, he knew that she was surprised too.

“Did I?” he replied.

A dangerous gleaming lit the Xalya girl’s eyes.

“You had a family and brothers to protect.”

‘I only had Showag, and you let him die’, her cold eyes were screaming.

Dashvara clenched his jaw. He was tempted to tell them about what his father had commanded him to do. However, that, besides not providing any comfort, would do nothing but sully Lord Vifkan’s honor. Helping his son to escape so he could carry out revenge as an assassin was not something any Xalya could feel proud of.

“Well, now we are all in the same case,” he finally said, leaning back on his armchair. It felt strange to speak in Oy’vat so far away from home. “We all are orphans, and we all should have died, but here we are, out of the steppe. And it seems we all feel guilty to a greater or lesser degree.” He looked at the three girls, and he shrugged. “If you consider that the fact of having survived means I don’t deserve the title of steppe lord, do as you want: I won’t blame you for it. And now” —he stood up and picked up his pile of books— “I hope you will excuse me. I’ll go back to my room.”

He silently headed toward the door of the library. Aligra’s words hurt him more than he would ever admit. He believed he had gotten over it, but obviously, if you twisted the knife in the wound, it was hard for this one to heal up. However, he had no doubt that if he had… He hesitated. That if he had only had… He stopped near the door, and he uttered his thought out loud without turning:

“If I could have died instead of Showag, you can be sure, Aligra, that I wouldn’t have hesitated, not even for a second.” He smiled darkly. He didn’t remember to have pronounced such a self-evident truth in his life. “You can be certain.”

“But then… why?” Aligra whispered in Common Tongue.

He guessed that the young girl was crying, and courtesy kept him from turning.

“I can only tell you it wasn’t my decision.”

He had talked too much, he realized. Who, if not his father, would have been able to force him to obey?

He left the Xalyas there, and he went upstairs to his room. He believed he had gotten over it; he believed so. But the fact was that, now that he had found his people again, he could clearly feel how the wound was bleeding inside him once again. He took a glance around the room, and he sighed with a grimace.

“Know what, Tahisran? I understand why you locked yourself in those catacombs: I myself would do it gladly if I wasn’t so much afraid of the dead.”

The shadow did not answer, but Dashvara was certain it had heard him.