The Gypsy Queen (25 page)

  Bastion snapped the reins to the horse’s flesh, and they tore off in a full gallop, headed for the great city of
Jedikai
.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Pook!” Gumi shouted. “I think that’s him!” Pook looked out, his old eyesight failing him.

  “Gimme that telescope,” he grumbled, irritated. Pook had procured another telescope for the gate, but they still had just the one. He looked out into the meadow, as two riders came forth from the forest’s edge. It was too far for Pook to see, even with the telescope.

  “I can’t tell, pooro,” Pook said, insulting his friend. “You cannot sound the bell if it is not him.”

  “We wait,” said Gumi, squinting into their new telescope. “We wait.”

  “Is the gypsy girl with him?” Pook asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  Pook was more curious than ever. The mysterious gypsy girl had enchanted them both, when they first met. Now the whole city had been talking about nothing but her, the Prince, and their exploits. That was, of course, until yesterday. People milled around the gates to the city. Hundreds of people. Thousands. They spoke in hushed tones, and gathered in groups. Stranger still, Pook saw that they were not just city folk. They were gypsies too. The gypsies were mostly outside the gates, and the citizens mostly inside, but they were talking to each other, introducing themselves and socializing in a way that was just as uncommon as this whole affair.

  “It is the Prince,” Gumi announced with certainty. Pook grabbed the telescope and took another look. It was unmistakable. He handed the telescope back, and went to the giant bell. There were two ways to ring it- one was tugging a rope to swing it, swinging the pin inside it. Pook opted for the other. He took up a large hammer and clanged the side. A hush fell over the people, as they began to pour out from the gates to get a better look. Some who had climbed the wall to see, stood up.

  Pook clanged the bell clearly, five times. Gumi leaned over his outlook to speak to the crowd.

  “It is the Prince!” he proclaimed. The rabble and chatter of the crowd intensified. They had been waiting out there, many of them overnight, for word of Bastion and
Yana
.

 
Yana
’s side ached from a hard day of traveling. Her wound still hurt, and her day would have been better spent resting, than riding hard on an unfamiliar horse. But her day had been spent with Bastion, and that would do. They entered the main clearing before the city, still a ways off. The horse was no longer running, but walking, after being pushed to its limits carrying two riders. As they got a little closer, they heard the bell ring out, five times. It sounded to her like that meant something.

  “What does the bell mean?” she asked him. Bastion did not answer. He let the horse continue to walk. They got closer and closer, seeing the countless people gathered at the gate.
Yana
could only find comfort in the fact that whatever unknown dread had followed them from the caravan- it would not be unknown much longer. Bastion had not spoken since they departed.
  They got closer, and some of the gypsies moved to greet them first. There were no drums or flutes or jubilee, but their faces showed gratitude and warmth, as they all reached up and handed
Yana
wildflowers. Soon there were so many she could not hold them, and she tried to stuff them in between herself and Bastion. Each gypsy that was able to get close enough held out flowers- but none of them said anything. No one said anything at all. The silence was terribly disconcerting.

  Bastion urged the horse forward, and the city people moved closer, reaching up to touch their hands.
Yana
reached out and realized they were giving her brief little squeezes such as one would do to comfort a friend.

  Bastion let his hands down too, and let the people do the same with him. There was only one reason this crowd could be here, only one reason for five rings of the bell, and it had nothing to do with their mission. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, as his hands were outstretched to the people. He wished he could fly away, maybe fly back to the cave with
Yana
. It had been a little paradise, and it was slipping away with each step back into the city.

  “Clear the way,” a voice boomed, and the path in front opened up. Bastion was relieved to see his friend Obadiah as the source of the voice. He headed to the platform where Obadiah stood next to Otta, and dismounted. Bastion carefully lifted
Yana
off, as she winced in pain, wildflowers falling everywhere
. She stood next to him, trying to stand as tall as she could, as tall and straight as Bastion did. Her intuition told her that Bastion needed her by his side, no matter what this was.

  “Congratulations on your successful mission,” Otta said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Bastion replied formally.

  “You shall no longer call me sir,” Otta said. Bastion looked to Obadiah.

  “Your father, the King, has died, Bastion,” Obadiah said.

  “You are the King of all
Jedikai
.”

________________________

The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 15- “unrest”

  Draiman watched as the crowd dispersed from the gates of
Jedikai
. He made it a point not to be seen, and was very good at moving around in a crowd unnoticed. It made capturing slaves much easier.

  News of the King’s death was news indeed. He watched Bastion receive the news with a sneer on his own face. Draiman’s suspicions of Bastion were all confirmed, with news of their mission spreading across the countryside. There was no question that Bastion was the leader of the black riders. Draiman felt a strange feeling wash over him, as he watched the gypsy girl holding the
hand of the
new King, watching their reactions. He realized that he had only been a wanderer, a mercenary, pursuing riches and roaming where he pleased. This new feeling... he realized that he had an enemy.

  It felt good.

  Draiman left the gates, as the citizens of the
Jedikai
retreated back into the city, and the gypsies headed back to the west meadows. His Ursari caravan was beyond the meadows, lurking in the cover of the north forest. It was more rocky, but Draiman wanted more privacy to avoid being recognized. That was the one nuisance of his trade- he had to be careful, always mindful. He was growing more confident in light of recent events, however. If his idea worked out well, he would be so wealthy soon that he could live out his days in luxury.

  Draiman had recently discovered some of Bastion’s gruesome handiwork- a gulley full of dead, rotting Moldavians. Five dead Moldavians intentionally hidden, and not a trace of who did it. Only Draiman’s tribe knew of it- he and his gang of Ursari gypsies had come across it on their way in from Sardica. The dead were Volga’s men, so he would have reported it to his partner... but Volga had left the Lower Reach
, and was likely dead as well
.

  Draiman skirted the edge of the camp, between the gypsy pitches of the west meadows, and the adjoining wall of the city where stone construction was underway. He could not tell what was being built, but it was taking place quickly. The crew he had se
en working on it was substantial
.

  He arrived in his own camp, as his tribe was preparing the evening’s fire. His men had been enjoying mingling with the gypsy women of the west meadows. A sizeable community had sprung up there, many caravans
arriving and
assembling together. Draiman could not remember seeing so many Romany in one place, as they did not congregate often.

  Draiman arrived at his wagon, and summoned one of his men.

  “I need you to travel to Kaffa, Gunari,” he said.

  “I don’t want to go to Kaffa,” Gunari replied.

  “You have to get word of
Volga
there. You have to find out everything you can. I have an idea that will make us all very rich, if it works.”

  “I don’t want to go to Kaffa,” the man repeated. “I want to play with the gypsy girls down there.” Draiman stopped speaking, and looked at him. The man looked sheepish, but persisted.

  “Can’t you have someone else go?” Gunari said. Draiman
stared him down some more,
annoyed.

  “I want you to go,” Draiman said, trying not to lose his temper. Gunari failed to concede, the expression on his face infuriating Draiman.

  Slap! Draiman struck his face, and the man pulled back. Draiman began striking him more, even though he was not fighting back.

  “Stop, stop,” the man protested. “
Atch!
” he shouted in Romany. He had tumbled to the ground as he shielded himself. It was not a proper beating Draiman had delivered, but just enough to humiliate him, as confirmed by the laughter of the other men. Gunari stood up, red-faced, hating Draiman. He hated him not just for the embarrassment, but that he could not kill him for it. Draiman paid too well.

  “It’s going to cost then,” he decided, trying to save face as he brushed himself off. Draiman threw him a stack of coins, knowing that was coming.

  “That is double your normal pay,” Draiman said. “But I expect you to go twice as fast. Speed is the key. Take my horse, if you wish. If you get back fast enough, I’ll double it again.” The man perked up. It was a good journey to Kaffa, but if he hurried, he would still have plenty of time to consort with the caravans below, when he got back, and would be much richer for it.

  “It must be important,” Gunari said.

  “Find out everything you can from
Volga
, and if you can’t find him, go to his boss. Tell them everything we know,” Draiman said.

  “His boss?”

  “Yes. His boss. You’ll probably find him at a place called the Tarsus Cantina. It’s not far from the main port. He is a tall Moldavian, and practically the mayor of the place. He runs the slave auction.

  “His name is Degonyat.”

  The man made haste, and departed the camp even as night fell. Draiman knew that Gunari was a well-traveled gypsy, and skilled with horses. Much was at stake, he realized. If his idea worked, it would be brilliant. If it didn’t, he would be out of business. As he thought of the man standing in his way- Bastion- that feeling came over him ag
ain. H
ate.

  Draiman wasn’t much for sentiment, but he had not had an enemy like this one before. He let his insidious thoughts wander, imagining his triumphs to come. The sneer on his face returned. He looked up at the stars, and spoke out loud to himself.

“I wonder if
Yana
will be happy to see me again.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Bastion stood at his father’s side
in the King’s chamber. He looked peaceful, Bastion thought. Maybe even content. Bastion loved his father, and had tried to serve him well. His father had not always been close, as he tended to the business of the
kingdom
. The King had been good to his people, and so had Bastion, but their service to the people had been at the expense of much of their personal time.

  Bastion’s mother had died at an early age, and he remembered very little of her, except that they had spent many evenings at the fireplace in her quarters. She would always stare at the fire and tell him stories, none of which he could remember. He grew up with his friends, Nico and Nathaniel, who became black riders along with Bastion when they came of age. Uncle Otta had always been a busy man, but Obadiah had always been there for them too. They had even worked with him on the walls for a few seasons.

 
Yana
stood next to Bastion, holding his hand, remembering her meeting with the King. She realized that Bastion seemed a lot like him, though she knew very little of the King.
Yana
felt a little uncomfortable. She was without words, unsure of how to comfort or even speak to Bastion, as they looked on. Her head was reeling from the implications beyond the grief of the moment.

  The man she loved was now a King.

 
Yana
had no idea what she would do. The only thing she knew for sure was that she wanted to be wherever Bastion was, and be there for him.
Yana
knew some of the
men present- Otta, Obadiah, the Chamberlain. There were some others she did not know, but she clung tightly to Bastion’s hand.

  “Bastion,” Otta said, “there are immediate matters at hand that must be discussed.”