76. A jailed pirate and a wandering Lord

Dashvara turned into the small, deserted square, looking for the shadow between the shadows, in vain. Tahisran repeated more slowly:

‘Atasiag Peykat has been arrested.’

“I understood that,” Dashvara replied. “But by whom?”

‘By the Republican militia!’ the shadow explained in a light tone. ‘There’s a certain Grand Master, a big, fat human, who came, surrounded by crossbowmen, and they asked him to go with them. They put him in jail. I saw it with my own eyes. They left Atasiag in a cell, near a torture chamber.’

“Eternal Bird,” Dashvara gasped.

The shadow continued, overexcited:

‘Atasiag asked me that we try to find out what he was accused of, because apparently the judges don’t explain anything to the accused, and he also wants you to take a packet of blue letters from his room tomorrow morning and carry them to Number Twelve Olive Street. He said you should just say that the package is from Atasiag and that you shouldn’t go into the house for anything. I think that’s all,’ he concluded after a hesitation.

Holding Shivara tightly, Dashvara began to walk faster, crossed a bridge, climbed the Stairs, and soon crossed the threshold of The White Pearl.

‘Ah!’ Tahisran said behind him. ‘Oh yeah, I remember now, he also said that in his room there was a small bag of money to keep paying for lodging. And, hell, I almost forgot: he said that there’re several items in his room, under the third board from the back, and that you have to take them and hide them in Sheroda’s house. A bag full of white powder. And an energigamometer, I think he said. Some kind of trap detector. Apparently, it’s illegal in Dazbon.’

Dashvara shook his head patiently, greeted the employee of the fancy inn, and went up the stairs. In the lounge, the Xalyas were worried. The captain greeted him with a fatalistic look:

“That’s all we needed! Did Tah tell you everything?”

Nodding silently, Dashvara went to carefully place the child on his pallet.

“Where did you take him?” Morzif asked.

“We walked around the city, and I took the opportunity to give him a history lesson,” Dashvara smiled.

The blacksmith winced but did not reply. With a broad gesture, Sashava muttered:

“Well, you’ve done something more productive than those: they haven’t stopped despairing because they think that, without His Eminence, we’re unable to find horses. Where is the Xalya dignity?” he bellowed.

Several Xalyas grumbled under their breath, others rolled their eyes, and Aligra interjected:

“We can’t leave Atasiag in jail after what he did for us.”

Coming from Aligra, such a statement gave them food for thought: she was not precisely inclined to recognize the qualities of foreigners. Dashvara was the first to nod.

“Aligra is right, of course. We will get Atasiag out of this prison, one way or another.”

“That Titiaka has enslaved your Eternal Bird,” Sashava snarled. “Your father would have chopped off the head of anyone who dared to give him an order, except his wife’s.”

Dashvara armed himself with patience; he was more than accustomed to the Grumpy’s outbursts. Captain Zorvun said to the old man in a diplomatic voice:

“My friend, I understand that you are in a hurry to get to the steppe: we all are. But you still can’t deny that ‘that Titiaka’, as you say, lodged and fed us for a month on his island, took us to Dazbon in his own boat, and now accommodated us all in here, all that for very little in exchange.”

“Not to mention that he is Yira’s adoptive father,” Dashvara observed. “We owe him respect and more than that.” Sashava the Grumpy shrugged, seemingly not in the mood to answer. Then Dashvara frowned. “By the way, where is Yira?”

“Kuriag Dikaksunora has gone to the Titiaka embassy,” the captain informed him. “And Yira and Wassag went with him. The young man said he would not rest until he had solved Atasiag’s problem. I don’t think he’ll be able to do much at this hour, but I’m glad to see that at least my son-in-law is stubborn,” he appreciated.

Dashvara smiled.

“What about the Agoskurian?”

“He left at the same time, but to his library. He said he’d drop by here tomorrow to check on you.” His dark eyes smiled. “One advantage with this issue is that Atasiag won’t be able to send us hauling barrels all over town,” he joked and added good-humoredly, “Come on, let’s go to bed, Xalyas.”

Dashvara followed the other Xalyas and sat down on his pallet. He could think of any number of reasons why Atasiag might have been arrested. For theft, for smuggling, for association with pirates… What was surprising was that Atasiag had been caught. He was still awake when he heard the sound of the door opening, whispers, and light footsteps. A few seconds later, Yira was lying next to him. Dashvara brushed her hand with his lips before hugging her and whispering:

“Did the Legitimate get anything?”

“Not much,” the sursha admitted. “But he says that, tomorrow, he’s going straight to court.” After a silence, she added quietly, “Tahisran said he would look after him.”

Dashvara understood that she was talking about Atasiag.

“He’ll be all right,” he muttered. “That snake always gets away with it.”

“Mmph,” Yira sighed doubtfully. “Good night, Dash.”

“Good night, naâsga.”

* * *

That night, Dashvara dreamed of kraokdals with red, demonic eyes. He walked between them, praying that they would not pay attention to him. And suddenly one of them stood in his way, brandishing two black swords and growling, The steppe is dead because of you. You, the lords of the steppe, have destroyed my family. You are the traitors. I, Siranaga of Rorsy, King of Rocdinfer, Prince of the Sand, sentence you to death, Dashvara of Xalya! Dashvara was trying to bring the king to his senses, but all was proving futile: the demon was rushing at him. He then pulled out his own sabers, which shone like the sand of Bladhy under the sun, and the fight began. At one point, Dashvara almost died, but a small, exasperated voice refused to accept this end. With a sharp blow, Dashvara decapitated the Old King and muttered, The culprits are the Essimeans. It’s the Essimeans…

He repeated this several times until he realized that he was awake. He opened his eyes and met the unfathomable gaze of Sirk Is Rhad, sitting by a screen. Dashvara stood up, stretching. He didn’t see Yira anywhere, but he wasn’t surprised: the sursha barely needed more than a few hours of sleep. He and the Honyr went out to lunch.

“A nightmare?” Sirk Is Rhad asked.

Dashvara shrugged.

“I killed an Ancient King that had turned into a monster. Well, it’s because of that book I read yesterday. The one written by Siranaga. It’s so different from the books I read in the Dungeon…”

“Really?” the Honyr inquired. “In what way does it stand out?”

While they served each other breakfast, Dashvara began to summarize the contents. He didn’t mention his theories about demons: they were probably wrong, and in any case, he had come to the conclusion that it didn’t matter if they were true or not. Finally, the Honyr shrugged and began to eat his lunch. He swallowed, paused, and concluded:

“As my grandfather used to say, every man tells it his way. Who knows what really happened.”

Dashvara decided to follow Sirk Is Rhad’s example and forget the book. When he heard a melody of flutes outside, he left the Honyr and went out into the yard of the inn. He found Tsu sitting on a low wall, playing his instrument. When he sat down next to him, the drow nodded his head without stopping playing. The fresh morning wind carried the notes up the stairs. The sun had just risen, but there already were craftsmen, workers, messengers and porters with huge bags passing by. Teenagers in simple student uniforms were climbing the steps, heading sleepily towards the Citadel. Yet, despite all the activity in the city, a strange serenity came over Dashvara. A serenity that vanished when he remembered that he had things to do.

“I’d give my Eternal Bird to be on the steppe,” he blurted out.

Tsu parted his lips from his flute. His expression, as usual, reflected very little.

“The closer you get to home, the more you want it,” he said softly.

Dashvara gave him a thoughtful look.

“Right,” he agreed, and rose energetically to his feet. “For now, let us concern ourselves with what is pressing. I must go and deliver some letters. Even in prison, Atasiag makes me work,” he lamented, smiling.

Tsu offered to accompany him, and the two of them returned to the inn to fetch the package of blue letters and the illegal items from Atasiag’s room. The interior of the room was neat and tidy, and they soon found what they were looking for. What Dashvara did not find was the small silver purse Tahisran had told him about. Had Atasiag made a mistake, or was it he who was not looking properly?

Deciding that they would worry about that later, he and Tsu went out, and after explaining where they were going to the Xalyas who had woken up, they headed first to Sheroda’s house to leave the bag of white powder and the energigamometer—if that was the name of that strange object. It was not the shixan who opened the door, but Azune. Seeing the half-elf appear on the threshold, Dashvara flinched slightly.

“Surprised to see me, steppeman?” Azune smiled. The Republican was wearing an elegant green dress that didn’t fit her. No, actually, it did fit her; it was just that, until then, Dashvara had always seen her in dark, simple clothes.

“A little,” he admitted. “I don’t know if you know about—”

“Yes,” Azune cut him off, “Atasiag. We returned yesterday from Twach. We learned of it tonight. An unfortunate event,” she nodded, but the way she said it seemed contradictory, as if Atasiag’s miseries amused her.

Dashvara frowned.

“Do you know what he is accused of?”

“No idea. But I’m afraid we can’t help him much. By the way, if you were looking for Sheroda, that’s going to be difficult. She doesn’t want to see anyone. She’s in a dark mood.”

Dashvara arched an eyebrow at her mocking tone.

“We came to deliver some things at her place. Things that could compromise Atasiag if the militia found them in his room.”

“And you want to leave them at Sheroda’s?” Azune took on an incredulous look. “They might harm her too, didn’t Atasiag think of that?”

Dashvara half-stifled an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t make it difficult for me. I’m just the middleman.”

The Republican rolled her eyes.

“Okay. Give me that. I’ll hide it.”

She took the bag and the magara hidden under a cloth. Dashvara observed in a detached tone:

“You seem to be rather pleased that Atasiag has been arrested, Republican.”

Azune shrugged.

“I’m not happy about it, but, what do you know, he doesn’t inspire much compassion in me either. The man is a thief, a liar, and a damned miser. A little jail time can’t hurt him…” She paused and looked at them both curiously. “And you, what will you do now?”

Dashvara huffed. Go on living, what about you? he thought. He didn’t like Azune’s lack of gratitude. All in all, with Atasiag’s help, the Brothers of the Pearl had managed to accomplish their dream, that is, to end the Republic’s largest slave trade and send important people involved to prison. Of course, to do that, they’d probably had to do more than one job for Atasiag, but…

“We don’t know that yet,” he replied at last. “By the way, yesterday I stopped by Aydin’s. Tildrin was wondering where you were.”

The Republican woman looked guilty.

“I’ll try to stop by and say hello this afternoon.”

“Are the Brothers of the Pearl so busy?” Dashvara asked.

The Republican made a reserved pout.

“We have a new patron.”

So that’s why she doesn’t care about the future of her previous patron, Dashvara coughed mentally.

“Actually,” Azune resumed, even quieter, “the Brotherhood of the Pearl has been disbanded. Rowyn and I have joined another… organization.”

Dashvara looked at her curiously.

“When you put it that way, it sounds pretty mysterious.”

Azune smiled.

“It’s nothing illegal,” she assured. “But I’d rather not talk about it.”

“You said Rowyn and you. What about Kroon?”

“Oh.” Azune smiled broadly this time. “He decided to end the big lie of his life and tell his family that he was still alive. His parents and brothers live in the country,” she explained. “Kroon always feared they would reject him because…well, because he couldn’t walk anymore.”

“What nonsense,” Dashvara let out in disbelief.

“He was always a little traumatized, but Rowyn finally convinced him to visit his people. The three of us went. When he saw him, his father called him an idiot for taking so long to come back,” she laughed.

Dashvara could only rejoice at the news: this dragon-monk might be even more insufferable than Sashava, but he found him likeable at heart. After wishing Azune good luck in her mysterious new job, he and Tsu set off for Number Twelve Olive Tree Street. First, they had to ask a militiaman where the street was located, to which the militiaman kindly replied that it was in the Kwata District, near the Temple of Salvation and the Great Cascade. Eventually, they found the house and the door, in a large courtyard at the top of a staircase. The number twelve had been carved carelessly into the wood. Anyone would have sworn that the house was uninhabited. After exchanging an inscrutable look with the drow, Dashvara stepped forward and knocked on the thick door.

They heard no sound. They waited a long time before Dashvara knocked again. Just as he was beginning to wonder if Atasiag or Tahisran had got the wrong number, there was a metallic clanking of chains.

The door opened, and Dashvara peered into the darkness. He saw a thin, dark-haired human boy leaning against the door frame and looking him up and down cheekily.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he threw out casually. “I regret to say that there is a great chance that you have come to the wrong door.”

“It shouldn’t be the case,” Dashvara retorted. “This is indeed number twelve in the Street of Olives, isn’t it?” He lifted the packet of blue letters. “I was sent to deliver this.”

The teenager’s eyes glinted with curiosity.