Blood on Bronze (Blood on Bronze Book 1) (20 page)

“I’ve got to get back out front,” replied Hedu.

“It’ll only take a second, and I can’t step away from
this right now, unless you want everything burned.”

“All right. Back in a minute.”

Arjun waited for the footsteps, and as he did so,
brought a tiny vial out of thin air. From it he pulled a little cloth bundle of
herbs and oils, and crushed the seeds of the herbs between his fingers. He then
reentered the hall, casually as anyone else leaving a privy. Someone else was
coming, but he paid Arjun no attention, and scurried in the privy the moment
Arjun was out. Arjun walked a few steps, opened a cloth door, and stepped into
the dimly lit room he guessed was the pantry.

Inside, Hedu was fumbling through shelves near the
back, looking for the spice box. Arjun stepped silently behind him. At the last
moment, Hedu must have sensed something, and turned round. His eyes went wide
in silent shock as he looked at Arjun, but had no time to do or say anything
else as the latter brought the hand with the bundle over his mouth. Hedu’s eyes
went blank and his body went limp. Arjun lowered him to the floor, and knew the
man would be out for several minutes at least, it would be long enough.

Arjun switched clothes with Hedu as fast as he could,
and having had no wine, quickly found the yellow box the man had been fumbling
for.  While in the basement, he had applied a little putty, taken from his
portal and the same color as his skin, to the bridge of his nose. And, he had
carefully shaved a bit of hair from temples, not much, but hopefully just
enough to make his forehead look a little broader. It wouldn’t pass close
scrutiny, but it might be enough for a busy house of happy drunken people in
dim lamplight.

He darted back into the hallway and entered the kitchen.
A thickset man was there cooking multiple dishes at the same time at large oven
hearth. He smelled of wine.

“Ah! What took you so long? You almost ruined it. Eh,
oh well, hand me that!”

Arjun nodded, and did, then exited as quickly as he
dared. As he went down the passage toward the dining hall, he heard Bal-Shim’s
voice booming. It sounded thick with drink.

“Hedu, where are you, lad? Get out here and taste this
wine, so we can have our toast!”

Arjun scurried at a trot and entered the huge, garishly
decorated room. Carved jackals and ogres in multiple colors competed with
hunters, lions, and stylized vegetation for space on crowded walls. Pillars
carved into the shape of palms supported the lofty, two story roof. Rich cloth
hung along railings, the floor was thick with carpets, and the seats with
cushions.

A hundred men or more, in all kinds of garb sat there
with full cups of wine and plates of appetizers. Arjun recognized a few of the
men, and hoped desperately they wouldn’t recognize him. He trotted over to
Bal-Shim, who to Arjun’s altered eyes, crackled with defensive magics. Four
guards flanked him, and several more stood around the room. Bal-Shim looked at
him and squinted his eyes, pausing for a moment, then spoke.

“Where’ve you been? Get over here!”

Arjun ran over. Two servants tilted a heavy amphora,
one of those Arjun had opened beforehand, and poured wine into a cup. Arjun
drank, and bowed to Bal-Shim. The latter smiled, and the slaves filled his cup.

“To all of us, good honest common folk of our great
city, Zakran!” said Bal-Shim, “Let it be forever free of old dynasties and
foreign masters. And… may the wine and the gold flow ever our way!”

There was a raucous drunken cheer as the assembled men
raised their cups. Bal-Shim drank his in one gulp, and the others followed each
their own pace. Deep in his heart, Arjun smiled. Robbers called liberators,
servitors and lackeys, petty tyrants who called themselves people’s watchmen,
corrupt officials and brutal guards on the take, most of Bal-Shim’s closest
were assembled here, and they drank deeply of the wine Arjun had measured for
them.

Without a word, he dropped spinning to the ground and
in one smooth motion drew a bronze dagger from thin air. It was the dagger he’d
made, with half the blade inscribed with a thunderbolt striking a snake. As he
spun, he darted the plain side of the blade across the bare knees of the four
startled guards. As he rose, they fell, nerve toxin stopping the muscles of
their bodies, including their hearts.

There were yells of shock from some of the assembled
men. Bal-Shim rose in his chair, drawing a short sword. But Arjun was faster,
he spoke aloud Words of Opening, and the defensive magics around Bal-Shim
flickered away. There was recognition now in Bal-Shim’s eyes, and fear. Arjun
blasted him in the groin with a line of flame, and he screamed and doubled
over. Arjun coolly pulled his head back by his hair and with the inscribed side
of the dagger, slit his throat from ear to ear.

Some men in the crowd had the honor of wearing weapons
in Bal-Shim’s house; they drew them now and advanced, as did the guards. Then,
all of those who’d had the wine began to convulse, stagger and fall, faces
turning to purplish red. But not Arjun, he’d taken the antidote before he’d
started the night.

Bal-Shim’s throat poured blood and his eyes stared up
at Arjun’s with horror and impotent hatred. The other poisoned men would soon
lose consciousness, their bodies overwhelmed by the agony coursing through
them. Not Bal-Shim. On the inscribed side of the dagger had been another
poison, one that didn’t kill but kept its victim conscious through the entire
process of dying, however it might come, unless their brain itself should be
destroyed. Bal-Shim’s was intact, and he would feel every moment as his
lifeblood left his body, as searing poison coursed through it, and as charred
flesh burned where his lower vitals had been.

Some of the guards had drunk no wine, they advanced on
Arjun. He had one more thing prepared. From his portal, the tiny world in his
hand, he pulled out his other bronze vial, the one he’d hidden from his
father’s disapproval. He opened it now and in a sweeping motion poured liquid
fire, fast-spreading and almost impossible to quench, across the thick hangings
and carpets around Bal-Shim’s chair. The slaves fled the room in terror. The
guards stopped in surprise, and Arjun ran for the front door at full speed.

As he went, Arjun blasted flame into whatever was wood
or cloth along his way. The passages behind him became infernos, and the sounds
of pursuit slowed, then stopped. With fires of his own raging in his heart,
fires that rose in triumph, and burned with the pain of all that had preceded
that triumph, Arjun raced into the waiting night.

20.
The Tale of Flight

Arjun took Inina in his arms, she was dressed for
travel, and had perhaps physically recovered. He covered her with kisses. She
covered him with kisses of her own, and with tears. But under the tears, her
expression was dark.

“Do you still plan to flee, my love?” she said.

“Yes, we have to get out of the city, and soon.”

“The G’abudim have offered to take us on one of their
ships, to G’abud itself. Is this for that service you owe them?”

“It is the only reason I can think why they would.”

“Arjun, do you think they would offer us, or me, more…
training there?”

He looked at her, and saw the fires in her eyes.

“Only they can answer that, but if it suited their
purposes, I think so…”

“Then I want to do so!” she said through clenched
teeth, “I want to learn everything they can teach about stealth, poison, and
handing out death. I want come back here someday, and rip the hearts out of
every one of the people who sent those guards, of the people who killed my
baby… our baby!”

Arjun looked at her in shock. But he understood, oh by
the uncaring gods he understood. She was right, though it meant grim years
ahead.

“We’ll do so, my love,” he said, and held her fiercely
in his arms.

She softened once more, and the fires were quenched
with tears. She put her face against his chest for a while, and then tilted it
back to speak. “Beloved… Ith’un the healer said something else. She told me she
didn’t think I’d ever be able to have children again…”

Her voice broke and she collapsed into him with
uncontrollable sobs. He held her close, and brooded in his own black thoughts.

~

In a cabin on a lower deck aboard the G’abudim ship,
Dahu’ud introduced Arjun and Inina to another one of his folk who would be
their guide. He was tall and slender for a G’abudim, and had a spirit mark with
blue amidst the gold. His name was Imu’dur.

“I will accompany you across the sea, and to our city
of Ma’is. There, depending on what those who decide think best, I will either
remain with you, or be replaced by another. On the voyage, we will have many
things to discuss. G’abud is a difficult place for foreigners, and dangerous.
It would be advisable for you to learn as much of our customs and our language
as there is time to teach.”

Arjun made the first of the polite gestures they’d
taught him, while Inina nodded.

Dahu’ud then spoke, “I have one more thing for you,
Arjun dra Artashad, given to me in turn by Umrub. A message stone. And now, I
must return. Do what is right, and all will be well. Know that not a word will
pass from any G’abudim, in life or death, to those who pursue you.”

“Thank you,” said Arjun, “I thank you more than I can
well express for the help you’ve given me.”

“Our help has been for a purpose, Arjun dra Artashad,
but it so happens our purpose is in accord with yours. Farewell!” said Dahu’ud,
as he went out the door and up the richly carved and painted stairs beyond.

“I will also give you some time. When we are safely at
sea, I will get you, and you may emerge from hiding,” said Imu’dur, and he also
departed.

At the thought of leaving hiding, some spark of
happiness, however faint, returned to Arjun’s mind. He felt a touch of the
romantic light he’d felt when he first dressed Inina in bronze jewelry. Now,
from the larger portal under the granite seal, he pulled out his fine clothes,
and a set he’d bought for her in secret, and gave her the bag of her jewelry.

“Arjun?” she said.

“We’re starting a new life together, Inina. Let’s wash
ourselves, dress in clean clothes, wear our best, and for a little while at
least, try to put our minds on something other than pain.”

“I… you know it isn’t as simple as that.”

“I know, but just for today…” he replied.

“All right my love, all right.”

As they prepared, Arjun opened the message stone. As
he’d hoped, it was from Kartam dra Argesh. The old man spoke of the furor that
was following in the wake of the destruction of Bal-Shim, his house, and most
of his key lieutenants. There had been some peculiar secrecy around the
investigation of the scene. He, Kartam, was no longer an insider regarding the
doings of the council, but he still had friends in key places, and knew that a
manhunt was even now being readied. Thousands of guards, watchmen, and
soldiers, backed by magi in city service were making ready to sweep the city
and the sewers in search of Arjun. Kartam hoped Arjun himself had the sense to
leave this time, though he regretted being unable to offer him further help
once he did. However, he named certain persons in other cities that might, with
the mention of a watchword he then provided. Kartam ended with black-humored
speculation as to whether old age or the council would put an end to his life
first, and wished Arjun a life free of such musings. 

~

An hour or so later, Imu’dur came to their door and
told them they could go the upper deck when they wished. It was mid-morning and
a clear bright day. The sky was blue and the sea a brilliant turquoise. Here
and there, far off in the distance, were sails of other ships, coming to or
going from the great city on the horizon. Arjun watched the walls, the towers,
the great lighthouse, and even the mighty Ziggurat of Ar-Galesh, gold on white,
lowered into the distance. Zakran and its troubles, at least for now, receded
into the distance.

Around him was the carved scented wood of the G’abudim
ship, and above him were the painted sails. Sailors worked and Imu’dur stood
nearby in silent reflection. Ahead of them, hundreds of miles away, were the
spice isles and the secretive land of G’abud.

He was dressed in a kilt and cloak of red and
golden-bronze, the colors of Zamisphar, and in part of weddings, and of life.
He wore his old ornaments of bronze on arms, neck, ears, brow, and waist. Inina
beside him was beautiful in a kilt and top of purple silk, made of the
expensive purple dye of Kratis. It was the first time in her life she’d worn
something so rich. She was bedecked in bronze and gems. Two days of magical
healing had done away with most of the scars and wounds on her face and body.
Those in her heart would remain, he thought. As would his. He pulled her close
to him, tight in his arms.

A fresh breeze was blowing from the open sea.

END

ABOUT
THE AUTHOR

I live in Denver, Colorado, at the feet of the Rocky
Mountains, with my wife and family. The child of hippie adventurer parents, I
lived on my father’s sailboat, an island off the coast of Costa Rica, a
converted school bus, and a ramshackle house in Ft. Lauderdale with a leaky
roof and a sand yard before settling down to something resembling a normal
childhood. Something in all that made me decide to enlist in the United States
Air Force, then earn a bachelor’s degree in History and an MBA. In a family
like mine, perhaps inevitably there would be a black sheep. A lifelong
voracious reader, including fantasy, science fiction, and adventure, my
influences are wide-ranging, but include Isaac Asimov, J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert
E. Howard, C.S. Forester, and Ayn Rand. I’ve worked in accounting and finance
for many years, but am greatly enjoying my dual life as a writer. My other
works include:

ALIEN EMPIRE
– When
the aliens came, the world changed forever, but not even they imagined how.
Haral Karden is wry, skeptical, and the longstanding leader of his field, the
history of first contacts between cultures. When aliens arrive in a fleet of
beautiful ships, with benevolent words, and bearing amazing technological
gifts, he asks the simple question – what do they want in return?

JAMAICA RUM
–
Freedom, wealth, and power… or the hangman’s noose! Follow the merchant sailor
turned buccaneer Diego Cargrave and the crew of the Sea Drake through wartime
adventure. The 1670s were a wild time when pirates were as likely to end up
rich as on the end of a noose, and Henry Morgan himself was an English admiral.
A realistic pirate tale, there are no magic items or sea monsters here, but
plenty of duels, battles, lusty wenches, and rum. Oh, and the rum here is NEVER
gone, but with a crew of pirates, is that really a good thing?

BARRETT’S BAR
STORIES
– Most interesting man in the world? He’s got NOTHIN’ on Pappy
Barrett, especially when measured by blood alcohol content! Vic Barrett, Pappy
to his friends and for that matter, most of his enemies, is a two-fisted,
hard-living sailor, traveler, soldier of fortune and veteran of countless close
calls. He’s had a long career packed with more adventure than most people could
pack into one lifetime. In fact, it isn’t too clear how he has packed it into
HIS lifetime, but don’t bother him with questions, just pull up a stool and
enjoy!

Many thanks for
purchasing this book! For more information, visit

Anthonygillis.com