Rise Of Empire (80 page)

T
he port of Dagastan surprised first-time visitors from Avryn, who thought of everywhere else as less civilized or uncultured. Calis was generally held, by those who had never been there, to be a crude, ramshackle collection of tribal bands living in mud or wooden huts within a dense and mysterious jungle. It shocked most when they first laid eyes on the massive domes and elegant spires rising along the coast. The city was astonishingly large and well developed. Stone and gray-brick buildings sat densely packed on a graduated hillside rising from the elegant harbor that put Aquesta’s wooden docks to shame. Here four long stone piers stretched into the bay, along which stately towers rose at regular intervals, facilitating the needs of the bustling trade center. Masts of more than a hundred ships, nearly all of them exotic merchant vessels, lined the harbor.

Hadrian remembered the city the moment it came into view. The heat of the ancient stones, the spice-scented streets, the exotic women—all memories of an impetuous youth that he preferred to forget. He had left the east behind without regret, and it was not without reservations that he found himself returning.

No bells rang in the towers along the harbor as they
entered. No alarm signaled as the bloodred sails of their Dacca-built tartane entered port. A pilot boat merely issued out and hailed them at their approach.

“En
dil dual lon duclim?”
the pilot called to them.

“I can’t understand you,” Wesley replied.

“What’s name of your vessel? And name of captain?” the pilot repeated.

“Oh, ah—it doesn’t have a name, I’m afraid, but my name is Wesley Belstrad.”

The pilot jotted something on a handheld tablet, frowning. “Where you outing from?”

“We are the remaining crew of the
Emerald Storm
, Her Imperial Eminence’s vessel out from the capital city of Aquesta.”

“What your business and how long staying will you be?”

“We are making a delivery. I am not certain how long it will take.”

The pilot finished asking questions and indicated they should follow him to a berth. Another official was waiting on the dock and asked Wesley to sign several forms before he would allow anyone to set foot on land.

“According to Seward’s orders, we are to contact a Mr. Dilladrum. I will go ashore and try to locate him,” Wesley announced. “Mr. Deminthal, you and Seaman Staul will accompany me. Seaman Blackwater, you will be in charge here until my return. See to it that the stores are secured and the ship buttoned down.”

“Aye, sir.” Hadrian saluted. The three disembarked and disappeared into the maze of streets.

“Wonderful luck we’ve had in picking up survivors, eh?” Hadrian mentioned to Royce as he met his partner on the raised aft deck of the ship.

The others remained at the waist or the bow, staring in fascination at the port around them. There was a lot to take in.
Unusual sounds drifted from the urban landscape. The jangle of bells, the ringing of a gong, shouts of merchants in a strange musical language, and above it all the haunting voice of a man singing in the distance.

Dockworkers moved cargo to and from ships. Most were dressed in robes with vertical stripes, their skin a tawny brown, their faces bearded. Bolts of shimmering silks and sheer cloth waited to be loaded, as did urns of incense and pots of fragrant oil, whose scents drifted on the harbor breeze. The stone masonry of the buildings was impressive. Intricate designs of flowers and geometric shapes adorned nearly all the constructions. Domes were the most common architectural style, some inlaid in gold, others in silver or in colorful tiles. The larger buildings displayed multiple domes, each featuring a central spire pointing skyward.

For the first time in three days they had found an opportunity to speak alone. “I thought you showed great restraint, and I was impressed with your diplomatic solution to our little civil war,” Hadrian told Royce.

“I’m just watching your back, like Gwen asked.” Royce took a seat on a thick pile of netted ropes.

“It was a stroke of brilliance appointing Wesley,” Hadrian remarked. “I wish I had thought of it. I like that boy. Did you see the way he picked Staul and Wyatt to go with him? Wyatt knows the docks, and Staul knows the language and possibly the city. Perfectly sensible choices, but they’re also the two who would make the most trouble out of his sight. He’s a lot more like his brother than he thinks. It’s a shame they were born in Chadwick. Ballentyne doesn’t deserve them.”

“It’s not looking good. You know that, right?” Royce asked. “What with the weapons and Merrick’s payment going down with the
Storm
, and everyone in charge now dead. I don’t see where we go from here.”

Hadrian took a seat on the railing beside Royce. Water lapped against the wooden hull of the tartane and seagulls cried overhead.

“But we still have Merrick’s orders and that letter. What did it say?”

“I didn’t read it.”

“Weren’t you the one who called me stupid because—”

“I never had a chance. Wyatt grabbed them first. Then there was this little incident with a burning ship and lots of swimming. Now Wesley has them and he’s hardly slept. I’ve not had an opportunity.”

“Then we’ll have to stick to that letter until either you get a chance to take a peek or we solve this riddle. I mean, what is the empire doing sending weapons to Calis when they need them to fight the Nationalists?”

“Maybe bribing Calis to join the fight on their side?”

Hadrian shook his head. “Rhenydd could beat them in a war all by itself. There’s no organization down here, no central authority, just a bunch of competing warlords. The whole place is corrupt, and they constantly fight each other. There is no way Merrick could convince enough leaders to go fight for the New Empire—most of these warlords have never even heard of Avryn. And what’s with the elves? What were they doing with them?”

“I have to admit, I’d like to know that myself,” Royce said.

Hadrian’s glance followed Thranic as he came topside and lay among the excess canvas at the bow, his hood pulled down to block the light, his arms folded across his chest. He almost looked like a corpse in need of a coffin.

Hadrian gestured toward the sentinel. “So, what’s going on between you and Thranic, anyway? He appears to
really
hate you—even more than most people.”

Royce did not look in his direction. He sat nonchalantly,
pretending to ignore the world, as if they were the only two aboard. “Funny thing, that. I never met him, never heard of him until this voyage, and yet I know him rather well, and he knows me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Esrahaddon. Can you provide me with perhaps a more cryptic answer?”

Royce smiled. “I see why he does it now. It’s rather fun. I’m also surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Figured what out?”

“Our boy Thranic has a nasty little secret. It’s what makes him so unpleasant and at the same time so dangerous. He would have killed Wyatt, might even have given you a surprise or two. With Staul added to the mix and Bernie slinking about, it wasn’t a battle I felt confident in winning, even if I didn’t have Gwen’s voice echoing in my head.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“What would be the fun in that? This will give you something to do. You can try to guess, and I can amuse myself by insulting your intelligence. I wouldn’t take too long, though. Thranic is going to die soon.”

Wesley returned and trotted up the gangway to address them. “I want volunteers to accompany me, Sentinel Thranic, Mr. Bulard, Dr. Levy, and Seamen Staul and Defoe inland. We will be traveling deep into the Calian jungles. The journey will not be without significant risks, so I won’t order anyone to follow me who doesn’t want to go. Those who choose to stay behind will remain with the ship. Upon my return, we will sail for home, where you will receive your pay.”

“Where in the jungle are you headed, Mr. Wesley?” Banner asked.

“I must deliver a letter to Erandabon Gile, who I am informed is a warlord of some note in these parts. I have met with Mr. Dilladrum, who has been awaiting our arrival and has a caravan prepared and ready to escort us. Gile’s fortress, however, is deep in the jungles, and contact with the Ba Ran Ghazel is likely. Now, who is with me?”

Hadrian, who was one of the first to raise his hand, found it strange that he was among the majority. Wyatt and Poe did not surprise him, but even Jacob and Grady joined in after seeing the others. Only Greig and Banner abstained.

“I see,” Wesley said with a note of surprise. “All right then, Banner, I’ll leave you in charge of the ship.”

“What are we to do while yer gone, sir?” Banner asked.

“Nothing,” he told them. “Just stay with the ship and out of the city. Don’t cause any trouble.”

Banner smiled gleefully at Greig. “So we can just sleep all day if we want?”

“I don’t care what you do, as long as you protect the ship and don’t embarrass the empire.”

Both of them could hardly contain their delight. “I’ll bet the rest of you are wishing you hadn’t raised your hands now.”

“You realize there’s only about a week’s worth of rations below, right?” Wyatt mentioned. “You might want to eat sparingly.”

A worried look crossed Banner’s face. “You’re gonna hurry back, right?”

Wesley led them off the ship and into the city, setting a brisk pace and keeping a sharp eye on the line of men. The old man, Antun Bulard, was the only straggler, but this had more to do
with his age than his wounds, which had turned out to be only superficial cuts.

Loud-colored tents and awnings lined the roads of Dagastan from the harbor to the square. Throngs filled the paved pathways as merchants shouted to the crowds, waving banners with unrecognizable symbols. Old men smoked pipes beneath the shelter of striped canopies as scantily dressed women with veiled faces stood provocatively on raised platforms, gyrating slowly to the beat of a dozen drummers, bell ringers, and cymbal players. There was too much happening to focus on any single thing. Everywhere one looked there were dazzling colors, tantalizing movements, intoxicating scents, and exciting music. Overwhelmed, the little parade of sailors marched in step with Mr. Wesley as he led them to their promised guide. He and his team were waiting along a paved avenue not far from the city’s Grand Bazaar.

Dilladrum looked like an overweight beggar. His coat and dark britches were faded and poorly patched. Long, dirty hair burst out from under a formless felt hat as if in protest. His beard, equally mismanaged, showed bits of grass nested in its snarls. His face was dusky, and his teeth yellow, but his eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. He stood on the roadside before a train of curious beasts. They appeared to be shrunken, shaggy horses. The animals were loaded with bundles and linked together by leads from one to the next. Six short, half-naked men helped Dilladrum keep the train under control. They wore only breechcloths of loose linen and clattering necklaces of colored stones. Like Dilladrum, they grinned brightly at the sailors’ approach.

“Welcome, welcome, gentlemen,” he warmly addressed them. “I am Dilladrum, your guide. Before we leave our fair city, perhaps you would like some time to peruse our fine shops? As per previous arrangements, I and my Vintu friends
will be providing you with food, water, and shelter, but we’ll be many days afield, and as such, some comforts as could be obtained in the bazaar might make your trek more pleasant. Consider our fine wines, liquors, or perhaps an attractive slave girl to make the camps more enjoyable.”