Greywolf - Arrival in Bukhara

"Bukhara smells of brick dust."

The caravan I'd been helping guard along with my mother, Asena, was made up of mostly pack mules tended by men in dusty robes, with rag-tag guards either walking, or riding Daemo mounts. Now, the merchants were settling up with the guards in the late afternoon, among a village sized collection of buildings made of new red bricks. Across the river though, the old red brick walls of Bukhara were slowly crumbling away.

Porthos, one of the merchants belonging to the caravan, looked at me in surprise. "Greywolf, you can smell the dust from across the river while standing here?"

I shrugged. "Every city pretty much smells the same, depending on whether or not they believe in sewers. But I can almost taste brick on the back of my tongue, it's so bad." I pointed at the guard towers, which were also crumbling, their soldiers leaning against the sides as if dozing. "Aren't they worried about being attacked?"

Porthos, lean as a desert hawk in his dusty red robes, chuckled. "The White Horde has already claimed all the lands east of the river that Bukhara used to hold, and has raided for many leagues in either direction. Bukhara could have called upon the Sasnayam empire for aid, but decided it was more prudent to forge a treaty with the barbarians instead, whose main camp is only a few leagues away. Now, no one else dares draw steel against Bukhara."

"Because the White Horde will attack anyone who enters their lands." He nodded and I said, "It's like making peace with the Direwolf outside your door, but what happens if the Direwolf decides to attack you anyway?"

"A situation I hope Bukhara never has to face," Porthos said. He gave me a sidelong look. "Greywolf, I have greatly enjoyed speaking with you on this trip, yet now that it has ended, I wish to ask you about a matter I hesitated to speak of before." I made an inviting motion with my hand, and he said, "In appearance you seem human, with a bit of a wolfish cast females seem to find appealing."

Oh shite. "Porthos, I swear to you I was respectful to your daughter. Asena would've thrashed me otherwise."

"I know you were, and Star-blossom did too, else she would not have flirted with you as shamelessly as she did. I also knew you had slaked your lust upon the slender Daemo merchant who rode with us until Khor."

My face screwed up as I winced. "I thought we'd been discreet."

Porthos smiled. "You were, and no word will pass my lips to Asena's ears. But females like to gossip and Daemo are the worst. Yet not Asena. She tells a rare tale when she's in the mood, though, and no one else has ever fought as ferociously as she did the times we were attacked."

"You're wondering how I managed to look the way I do, when my mother's a seven foot tall cross between a Direwolf and a short giant."

"I did not mean to be harsh."

I couldn't help but grin. "You're not, because that's exactly the way Asena describes herself on a good day. Most of my outside came from my Shadow-walker father, Ghostdog, but most of my inside came from her... more or less." My eyes widened as a thought struck me. "Porthos, you'll keep the whole Shadow-walker business secret, won't you? Most people think my silvery-grey hair comes from my being a Celt and nothing else."

Porthos grasped my shoulder for a moment before letting go. "No word shall pass my lips, I promise. You and Asena both saved my life." I inclined my head as he gave me a smile. "By the way, did anyone mention that Bukhara has begun its yearly Harvest festival? High Priest Muzen brought the Brittani servant priestesses with him from Tesiphon, and the tax official claimed the priest sacrificed one of them instead of the dozen or so daughters normally put under the knife."

I raised my eyebrows. "I wondered why all the merchants with daughters brought them along."

"Can you blame us? Anyway, between relief over their children being spared, and the effects of the blood corn, the official told me the festival is turning into the randiest celebration Bukhara's had in living memory." Porthos gave me a wink. "That should be music to your ears."

"If I can get Asena to let me off the leash for a while." I turned towards the wooden pens where the drivers were unloading the mules before turning them loose to be fed and watered. Standing next to the gate, Asena towered over the caravan master, Salazar, a bald headed fat man with a long beard, the two of them waving their arms as they argued. "I wish she wouldn't fight over money every time we settle up with a caravan."

Porthos stroked his own black beard as a sly smile spread over his face. "I believe I have a way to please both Asena and Salazar at the same time. Come with me."

Hopes rising, I walked with the lean merchant as Salazar's voice rose above the braying of mules and men alike. "Asena, we agreed on one piece of silver per bandit killed by you or your son."

Asena's voice was a wolf's growl matching her wild, part human face. "Greywolf and I saved your caravan twice without the need to fight. Or did you think those four-armed raiders were truly frightened of your sell-swords?"

"I grant you that, and shall make sacrifices in your honor to the gods. However, as per our agreement..."

Sigh. No wonder the merchants all call him Old Iron Arse. Asena glanced at us as we walked towards them, the stink of mule almost overpowering the dust… wait, that's odd. Asena noticed as I stopped and sniffed the air, catching an elusive scent. As Porthos halted just ahead of me and looked back, Asena growled, "What is it?"

"Wind out of the Shadowlands," I replied, pointing off to my right at a group of hills covered in scrub, perhaps a league away. "Somewhere in that direction there's a place where the walls between the worlds are weak."

"The ruin of an ancient temple is there," Porthos replied. "Legend says if you touch the dead grey tree standing in the center of the temple, you turn into a ghost."

"Actually, you get pulled into the Shadowlands, without any way of returning unless a Shadow-walker finds you and brings you back. Otherwise, if you stand near the tree, which is actually tendrils of the Grey clumped together, you look like a ghost to anyone in the real world."

Salazar shuddered. "And to think I was tempted to do just that when I was a boy." He blew out his breath. "Anyway, as I was saying-"

"If I might interrupt," Porthos said, "I have a solution to this question of payment. Close to the main gate is an inn catering to mercenaries and foreigners, 'The Dancing Direwolf', and the owner owes me a debt he will never be able to repay. I was going to have the temple priests officially forgive it, as a way of showing my piety to Bukhara, but he believes I am going to hire someone to take it out of his hide. Asena, what if I tell him to let you stay in the inn and drink for free, until you either leave, or reach the amount he owes me?"

"In exchange for accepting the meager pay Salazar offers?" Porthos nodded, and Asena asked, "Will he balk when he sees me?"

"He will foul his breeches first. Besides, I am the only one with casks of wine from the Empire of the East, which most foreigners prefer over our sweeter ones. Nor does he realize what a capacity for wine you have. You will be able to drink your fill, and after you leave, I will bring in the priests to announce to the city my pious nature, which Parnax the innkeeper took advantage of." He smiled. "In Bukhara, reputation is everything."

"Plus this innkeeper will look like a fool if he protests." Asena laughed, baring her jagged fangs. "Porthos, you're the best scoundrel I've known in years. I accept."

Asena extended the black clawed fingers of her right hand towards his, her leathery finger pads touching his softer ones for a moment. Then they touched heart, lips, and forehead, sealing the agreement. Salazar's face sagged a moment in relief before his stoic mask returned. "Porthos, I will arrange transport of your casks if you will take Asena and her son in hand to get them settled."

"Of course." Asena took the leather bag of coins Salazar offered her, pouring them out on her palm and counting them before returning the silver to the pouch and securing it to a hiding place underneath her battered armor. Then she and I both grabbed our packs along with our swords, peace bound inside their scabbards with leather cords, and fell in with Porthos.

Leaving the caravan behind, we stepped onto the main street paved with flat stones, that led to the white stone bridge over the river. As we passed by shops made of new brick, Porthos said, "Asena, you mentioned earlier this morning your need to hunt down trolls or some other creature with a good deal of mana in their hearts. There is a mercenary named Karl, who recruits other mercenaries for the White Horde, who frequents the Dancing Direwolf. He may know where such creatures can be found."

As we began crossing the bridge, Asena frowned. "Bukhara tolerates members of the White Horde to enter?"

"That was part of last year's peace agreement. We get to trade with them, and they with us."

"That also means you're letting spies into the city."

"And spies into the encampment of the Great Khan." Porthos smiled. "Which also means counter-spies, and two-faced Janus spies, and spies who never realize they are spies, and-"

"Aren't there any merchants who are just merchants?"

"In Bukhara? Such a person would be suspected by everyone and driven bankrupt in a month. Spying for and against Bukhara is part of my family's tradition, dating back to Patriarch..."

Yawn. I began to lag behind them, losing the thread of their conversation as I looked down at the swift flowing river beyond the waist high wall of stone. People hurried past Asena, giving her fearful looks, but both of us were used to that and ignored it unless someone decided we were a menace. A dark haired girl in traveling robes, who gave me a frank appraisal before she noticed Asena and rushed past us, reminded me of the young widow staying at the last caravan post we'd stopped at. She'd flirted with me as Asena drank, the widow asking me to escort her back to her room before inviting me inside. Her skin had been the light brown color of fresh baked bread, and just as warm and soft as she'd slowly bared one shoulder-

"Greywolf," Asena yelled. I blinked, the image dissolving. Shite! They'd already reached the main gate, its large wooden doors banded with black iron, and there were soldiers wearing brass armor standing in a semi-circle around her.

All of their bronze tipped spears were leveled at her gut.