Home. Dashvara Trilogy, Book 3: The Eternal Bird
The boy of Number Twelve reached out and took the package.
“From…?”
“Atasiag Peykat.”
The boy sighed and opened his mouth to call:
“Sarga!” He cocked his head to one side, straining his ear, and rolled his eyes. “Sarga! Do you know a guy named Atasiag Peykat? I’m new around here,” he explained to them in a normal tone.
Footsteps were heard, and finally, a hobbit, dressed like the typical greengrocer, appeared beside the boy, a hand on her hip and a frown on her face.
“What’s up? Who are these people?”
“They brought a bunch of letters from a man named Atasiag Peykat,” the boy summarized.
“Give it to me,” Sarga growled, snatching the package from her hands. With squinted eyes, she stared at Dashvara and Tsu. As they started to leave, she held them back, “Wait a second! Do you know where that damned Atasiag lives?”
Dashvara gave her a wry smile.
“In prison.”
Sarga’s eyes widened.
“Oh my devils.”
“This Atasiag,” the dark-haired boy interjected in a quiet tone, “isn’t he, by any chance, that Titiaka-Agoskurian slaver you told me about?”
Sarga waved a hand to silence him and pointed to Dashvara with her index finger:
“You! Don’t go away. Who are you? Your names.”
Dashvara had already descended the steps into the courtyard. The hobbit’s imperative tone invited him to leave without a word rather than answer. He looked at Tsu before saying:
“We are servants of Atasiag Peykat.”
“Mmph. Your names,” Sarga insisted.
Dashvara shrugged.
“Dashvara and Tsu. From Xalya. We’re from the steppe.”
“A pleasure!” the dark-haired boy said, bowing in a strange way. “I’m Api. And she’s Sarga—Ouch!” he protested when the hobbit gave him a slap on the back of the neck. “What? If they introduce themselves, it’s only normal that we introduce ourselves too, isn’t it, or did I miss something?”
“They are them and we are us,” Sarga emphasized through her teeth.
“That’s true,” Api agreed, energetically.
“Shut up.”
Api smiled mockingly. It was only then that Dashvara remembered where he had heard the name Sarga before. From Atasiag’s own mouth, when he had blundered into talking about demons. Oh, devils… Suddenly, he felt an urgent desire to leave.
“Pleased to meet you, Api and Sarga. Have a good day,” he hastily tossed to them. He bowed and turned his back on them.
“Likewise!” the boy replied.
“And what is Atasiag doing in prison?” Sarga asked, raising her voice.
Dashvara half turned, shrugging his shoulders.
“They arrested him last night. We don’t know why yet.”
They left them there and returned to the inn. When they arrived, they learned that Kuriag Dikaksunora had already gone to face the judges bravely. The Xalyas were sitting outside in the courtyard, enjoying the sunshine and listening with obvious pleasure to the words of Shokr Is Set. The Great Sage was telling them a traditional tale that even barbarians probably knew, but this Honyr had a gift for storytelling, and Dashvara was soon captivated by his tale of falling stars, brave steppians, and wise philosophers.
Around noon, as they were settling down to eat in the kitchens, the man named Dilen who had greeted them at the inn the first day came to find them. He approached them, looking embarrassed.
“Excuse me, but the owner sent me to tell you that your master has not yet paid for the last three nights’ accommodation and would like to receive at least a promissory note.”
The weary looks he received made him even more nervous. Captain Zorvun rose from his seat, replying solemnly:
“Well, tell the owner not to worry, that Atasiag Peykat will pay handsomely. He is a citizen of Titiaka, and a great one. He will know how to reward your master for taking care of his slaves. And now, let us not be bothered with any more of these stories.”
Dilen nodded. As soon as he left the kitchen, the Xalyas burst out laughing.
“Let’s toast to our captain!” Zamoy exclaimed, raising his glass of water.
They praised Zorvun’s ingenuity and even went so far as to convince a cook to join them with a good cheese and a few bottles of wine to celebrate the birthday of the Triplets, who were not born on that day and had never celebrated their birthday in their lives, but who cares: as Makarva said, it was a matter of adapting to Republican customs.
Back in their quarters, Dashvara tried again to look for the purse in Atasiag’s room, but it was in vain. Fortunately, the captain seemed to have convinced the owner to leave them alone. It wasn’t until he returned to the living room that he realized there was a steppeman he hadn’t seen that morning: Zefrek of Shalussi. Strange, right? He turned to Raxifar. The great Akinoa had taken a nap after his meal, following the example of most Xalyas. Seeing Lumon sitting in a chair, lost in thought, he sat down beside him and said:
“Hey, Archer. Have you seen Zefrek this morning?”
The Archer frowned, thought, and shook his head.
“No.”
“I saw him!” Shivara interjected cheerfully, sitting on the floor with his top.
“Really? He went out?”
The child nodded.
“I woke up at night because I was thirsty, and I saw him go out.”
“He went straight out?”
Shivara bit his lips, as if trying to remember.
“No, first, he went around in circles,” he said at last. He pointed the hallway. “He went that way like a zomnambulist. My daddy was a zomnambulist—my foster father,” he corrected at once. His gaze shifted, and he resumed his game, spinning his top.
Dashvara let out a muffled hiss, and Lumon looked at him curiously.
“You didn’t find the money in Atasiag’s room… Do you think the Shalussi took it?”
Dashvara sighed.
“I’d like to believe he didn’t. I doubt if there was enough in that purse to buy himself a horse, a sword, and supplies. If he stole it, he’s a fool.”
“He’s a Shalussi,” Lumon replied with a small joking smile.
Dashvara smiled back at him.
“Devils. In the end, Rokuish may be the only honest Shalussi. But let’s not accuse rashly,” he decided.
He went to take a nap with the others, then he played katutas with Lumon and the Triplets. Neither Zefrek, Kuriag, nor Yira showed up. They were in the fifth game when they heard footsteps in the hallway. When they saw Lanamiag Korfu enter the living room, they were stunned. More than a human, he looked like a ghost standing the devils know how.
The Legitimate’s gaze fell on each Xalya with obvious contempt. His eyes flashed as he recognized Dashvara as his father’s killer. However, he did not move towards him but towards his former slave: Raxifar. The Akinoa stood before him, arms crossed. It was hard to tell which of the two had a more disdainful look.
“You wretched traitor,” the Korfu said with surprising firmness. “If I had a sword, I would behead you right here.”
Dashvara exhaled in surprise. He wondered to what extent the Legitimate realized how ridiculous his statement was. He could barely stand on his feet, and he was surrounded by steppian warriors. His pride as a Titiaka citizen, instead of inspiring respect, made him grimace.
“Lan!” a voice cried. With an expression that was both incensed and exasperated, Fayrah rushed down the hallway and joined the Korfu. “Merciful Cili, stop talking nonsense and come back and lie down.”
Lanamiag slowly shook his head and turned this time to Dashvara. The Xalya held his gaze, impassive.
“Lan…” Fayrah whispered, increasingly altered.
“I swear,” Lanamiag said vigorously, “I swear on the honor of my family that I will finish your people. Savage. I swear it before Cili and before my ancestors.”
Dashvara caught Fayrah’s pleading look and tried not to get carried away.
“Tell me that again when you’re in a condition to wield a sword… and string two rational thoughts together. Excellency,” he scoffed.
Red patches appeared on Lanamiag’s pale skin, and Dashvara made a pout under Fayrah’s glare.
“Don’t provoke him,” his sister snapped at him, “he’s still very weak.”
“I’m well,” the Legitimate replied brusquely. “And, if I weren’t surrounded by these barbarians, I’d get well a lot faster. Where is that Dikaksunora?”
“He went to the Tribunal, Excellency,” Wassag replied in his usual humble tone.
“So, Atasiag Peykat was really sent to prison?”
“Let’s just say I’m afraid it’s true, Excellency.”
“Do we now know the motive?”
“Not yet, Excellency.”
“Mmph. Go get me some paper and ink!” he ordered. “I must write to the embassy.”
With this, he lost interest in the steppians and returned to his room, guided by Fayrah. Fayrah’s face was marked with concern and determination.
“He’s a funny number,” Zamoy commented, “If he’d told me what he told you, Dash, I’d have given him a good kicking.”
“I will not stoop to beating a sick man,” Dashvara replied calmly. Remembering that Lanamiag Korfu had once caned him when he was sick himself, he smiled wryly and advanced a piece on the checkerboard.
Kuriag and Yira eventually returned in the middle of the seventh game of katutas. Faced with the questioning looks of the Xalyas, Kuriag shook his head and said in an insecure voice:
“The case is moving forward.”
That was all. After wishing them a good afternoon, he locked himself in his room. Glancing at the captain with amusement, Dashvara commented:
“Your son-in-law explains himself like an open book.”
“Perhaps your naâsga can enlighten us,” Zorvun answered back, turning to Yira.
The sursha shrugged.
“He’s doing something. But I’m not sure what. He’s been to the Embassy, the Court, the prison and the Great Library. He spoke for three hours with Atasiag and as much with Asmoan of Gravia. At least, he seems to have some ideas.”
“And, you, where have you been?” Dashvara inquired. “You left before Kuriag. In fact, before anyone else.”
“Not before everyone else,” the sursha corrected him.
Dashvara nodded, understanding.
“Zefrek,” he whispered. “You followed him?”
Yira’s eyes narrowed to a thin slit.
“I couldn’t help it. He was acting strange. He was nervous. I saw him go into Atasiag’s room.”
“What a thief!” Zamoy cried.
“Damn Shalussis,” Dashvara growled.
“And why didn’t you wake us up?” the captain asked.
“Because I wanted to know where he was going,” the sursha answered simply. “I was surprised when I saw that someone was waiting for him downstairs in the courtyard of the inn. At first it looked like they were going to jump up and bite each other. But then they started talking at length. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. After a while, I saw the other one kneel before Zefrek.”
“A Shalussi tradition,” Orafe the Grunt spat. “You should have slit his throat when he tried to kill you, Dash.”
Dashvara had been left speechless.
“Walek,” he thought aloud. “It must be him. We met him last night, Shivara and I. But I can’t explain how that smug barbarian could have accepted Zefrek as his leader… Do you know what they did next?” he asked Yira.
The sursha looked embarrassed.
“No, I don’t know. At that moment, I showed myself and told Zefrek to return the stolen money.”
“Did he give it back?”
“Yes. He even apologized for leaving without warning and asked me to tell you that he will never forget the Xalyas’ help. He said that he was going to reunite his people, and for that, he needed money. So I decided to give him half of what was in the purse. Twenty dragons.”
“Our lady of the steppe is generous,” Orafe observed, mockingly.
Dashvara glared at him, and the Grunt raised his hands, looking innocent.
“It’s a change of pace from the last one; I’m not saying anything,” he defended himself.
“And what the hell does that Shalussi think he’s doing with twenty dragons?” Alta interjected. “At most, he buys himself an ordinary sword.”
Kodarah let out a wry laugh and said:
“He can use it to eliminate Walek when Walek tries to sell him back to the civilized.”
The Xalyas began to comment on the matter all at once, and Dashvara shook his head, deep in thought. He understood Zefrek’s action, but…
“He could have explained it to me in person,” he growled. “I would have even given him the other half of the purse if he had convinced me of his intentions.”
Raxifar intervened in a deep voice:
“That he is grateful to you does not mean that he trusts you. Mistrust between our clans seems to be an incurable disease.”
Dashvara understood that he was not only saying this for Zefrek, but also for the Xalyas.
“Things can change,” he replied.
Raxifar glanced around at the steppes in the lounge. Some of them were looking at him with unfriendly expressions. He shook his head and, without answering, walked out of the room.
“This Akinoa thinks he’s better than us,” Zamoy grumbled.
“And perhaps he is,” Shokr Is Set interjected.
A few Xalyas gave him confused looks. Without daring to agree with him, Dashvara concentrated again on the game of katutas.