Chapter X

It wasn't uncommon for merchants to hire priests or mystics to accompany them. The life of a merchant was full of danger, only slightly less so than that of a soldier, since merchants were easier targets than seasoned warriors, so having the gods and someone who could practice magic on your side was helpful.

This is how Tassos got in with Lorenzo's caravan. With the upcoming royal wedding in Arx Lorenzo knew that people would be flocking to the capital from all over, and it was the perfect opportunity for him to sell his wares. Now, while Lorenzo wanted some sort of divine and magical protection on his way he was never much of a religious sort, neither did he want to spend too much money just hiring people to protect the caravan, so when Tassos, a mere acolyte of the Father, offered to travel with him and offer magical protection for cheap he couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Lorenzo's little caravan consisted of himself, Tassos, a hunter named Theoren, and a sell-sword named Gerardo. With the three men he'd hired for this trip Lorenzo was sure he'd have all the muscle, food, and divine protection he'd need to make it to Arx and back safely with all of his goods.

Lorenzo and Theoren rode on Lorenzo's old, wooden cart, the same cart transporting his goods, while Tassos and Gerardo rode their horses on either side of the cart.

“I've never heard of the cult of the Father,” said Theoren to Tassos, “Would you tell me about him?” Theoren was a short man with slender features. He smelled of dirt and mud, an aroma he regularly maintained in order to disguise his own scent from his prey in the wild.

“There are two supreme gods,” said Tassos, “The Mother and the Father. The Mother is the creator. She brings life into the world, brought the cosmos into being, and governs over healing and mercy. The Father is the destroyer. He is the god of death, and the one who enforces justice and enacts vengeance. Whenever the Mother wishes to create new life she turns to the Father and he takes life. Usually he picks out individuals who have proven themselves to be wicked, or even simply useless. When he takes life that very same life is what the Mother then uses to create new life. Each death means a new birth, each birth means there was a death.”

“Sounds like I'd be much more inclined to worship the Mother,” said Theoren.

“You might be, but there are no male acolytes or priests of the Mother, just as there are no female acolytes or priestesses of the Father.”

“Fascinating. So, then, what does a priest...or an acolyte of the Father do?”

“Each one serves him in different ways. Some of us oversee funerals. Some of us serve as judges or executioners. Then there are those who spend much of their time just...encouraging new life, you might say.”

Theoren felt a chill roll across his skin and his hair stood on end, “You mean...murdering people?”

Tassos smiled at him, “Not just anyone. Specific targets, people who have squandered the Mother's gift of life, or abused it. So, in short, not you.”

“So you go around passing judgment on people? Deciding who deserves to live?”

“I don't make that decision, the Father does. When I commune I hear his voice telling me the name of my next target, or sometimes he shows me the face of my next target. Though occasionally I'm allowed to make a judgment call. If I see a man assaulting a woman or a woman stuffing her face while slaves do all her work for her then they're obviously squandering or abusing the Mother's gift of life, aren't they?”

“Sounds to me like the man forcing himself on a woman is encouraging new life in his own way,” said Gerardo, the sell-sword, spitting and chuckling to himself.

While Lorenzo and Theoren stared at Gerardo, mouths agape, completely at a loss for words, Tassos shrugged. He'd heard scum speak like this before, just before choking on whatever poison he'd fed them. To him this was nothing shocking, and he realized that Gerardo was likely just trying to pick a fight. Tassos knew his kind, those who enjoyed fighting so much that they'd say horrible, shocking things in order to convince others to attack them, then beat them down or otherwise humiliate them. It was likely Gerardo didn't really feel that way anyway, he was just trying to get a rise. His words were bait on a three-pronged hook, and Tassos wasn't about to bite.

“What? Not going to correct my blasphemy?” Gerardo said, “Though I suppose anyone who knows the history of your cult, as I'm sure you do, knows already how heartless the Father can really be. I seem to remember reading something about a time when there was a great famine, the high priest of the Father told the people to sacrifice every person over fifty in the city, and when they did the famine ceased, the crops grew. The Mother and Father blessed the act of mass murder.”

Tassos neither bothered to roll his eyes nor to respond to Gerardo in any way. He made eye contact with Gerardo when he spoke, he didn't ignore him, but he gave no sign that any of Gerardo's words bothered him. Certainly it wasn't that Tassos was afraid of Gerardo, but he wasn't about to waste another resurrection just to teach him a lesson.

“Listen,” Lorenzo said, taking the attention of the moment, “Why don't we save religious debates for the holy days? I'm sure next time you gentlemen go to temple you'll have plenty to talk about.”

“Next time I go to a temple it'll be to fornicate with the priestesses and piss in the holy water. Especially if it's a temple of the Father.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes, “We got a long way to go Gerardo. Stop picking fights or I'll fire you.”

If there was one thing Gerardo's kind loved more than causing fights it was money, so Gerardo went silent after that, though occasionally he did give Tassos a smug look, trying to provoke him through mere eye contact.

After several more uncomfortable hours of riding, Lorenzo surprised the group as he started shouting, “No! NO! NO! This is bad! Gods! NO!” It took the rest of them a while to spot what Lorenzo was looking at, but up ahead the mountain pass which they were planning to use to get into Arx was collapsed, filled with boulders and dirt.

“Must have been a landslide,” said Theoren.

“Really?” Gerardo said, rolling his eyes.

“There's got to be another way into Arx,” said Tassos.

“There is,” Lorenzo hung his head, “A much more dangerous way. Further north there's another pass, but it takes us right through Kolob.”

A chill went through Theoren and Gerardo. Kolob was a sovereign nation within the borders of Arx which was ruled by the Inquisition. While the inquisitors elsewhere in Arx were forbidden from attacking or accusing just anyone, in Kolob they were not so restricted, and often would attempt to forcefully convert anyone who didn't follow their faith, “The True Way.” Those who taught any other faith they burned at the stake as blasphemers, meaning that out of all of them Tassos would be in the most danger.

“Is it possible to pass through Kolob without passing through any of the cities?” Tassos asked.

“Yes, but that doesn't guarantee we won't get caught.”

Gerardo asked, “What about another way in? Surely there aren't just two ways into Arx.”

“Only two ways that will get us there in time,” said Lorenzo. “We could go further south, through Subra, and then use some of the tunnels to get into Arx, but we'd never make it in time for the wedding.”

Gerardo smirked, “I'm sure her majesty will be most disappointed we couldn't attend.”

“You numb-skull! If we miss the wedding we miss our opportunity to make a fortune selling these goods! There'll be people from all over the kingdom in Arx's capital, and people from the surrounding kingdoms too, on the day of the wedding! We can't miss it!”

“So we're going through Kolob?” Theoren asked. “We're going to risk getting caught by inquisitors?”

“We were already risking getting attacked by bandits,” said Tassos. “And bandits don't typically capture people alive and try to convert them. Truth be told, we're probably in less danger passing through Kolob than we were entering Arx through this pass. Do you know what the inquisitors do to bandits?”

“Execute them?” Gerardo asked.

“No. They cut off the hands of thieves, the entire arms of murderers. Rapists they castrate. The Arxians punish bandits with death, but the inquisitors punish them worse, and the people of Kolob take the idea of divine punishment for their sins much more seriously than the people of Arx. There are much fewer bandits in Kolob than practically anywhere else.”

“But if we're caught transporting an acolyte of the Father...”

“Claim you didn't know,” said Tassos. “I'll back you up on that, say I never told you about that. Then it'll just be me who goes to the stake. But don't worry, if we stay away from the cities it's unlikely we'll be caught, and if we are caught, well, then it's time for Gerardo to prove he's worth his salt.”

Gerardo wasn't sure that if they were caught he'd be able to do anything to stop Inquisition witch-hunters, professional killers that they were, but he dared not say anything, lest he not only lost this job but ruined his reputation and no one wanted to hire him again. Besides, he didn't want these men thinking him a coward.

“Aye, nothing to worry about, really,” said Gerardo, “If we stay away from the cities the worst we'll encounter is a group of two or three witch-hunters on patrol, or maybe just one of the Kolobite citizens. Nothing worth fretting over.”

“I feel safe in your capable hands,” said Tassos.

Gerardo was sure, at the sound of this, that Tassos was manipulating him. Clearly he meant to rub Gerardo's nose in his doubts, make him feel powerless to avoid the danger ahead.

Mahla found Tabor, the banker, just as the letter indicated. The building was made of cut granite, with windows made of diamond. Clearly Tabor, or perhaps his ancestors, were rich enough to afford to pay geomancers to build this place. Four armed guards patrolled outside, retired soldiers, likely, or the bastards or disinherited sons of knights of Arx. Through the windows she could see many more inside.

The guards eyed the Dunn Banner mercenaries suspiciously, knowing that a force that large was more than they could handle, should the mercenaries decide to turn bandit and attack the bank, and outside the town limits as they were it would be a while before any of the local guards could lend a hand.

Indeed they had reason to be afraid, for when Mahla returned to speak to the rest of the sell-swords Lila, one of their most skilled assassins, asked, “So, are we robbing this place, then? Looks small enough for us to take it.”

Mahla shook her head, “Not without some casualties, and we need every sword we have if my plan is to work. No, we'll go about this the civilized way.” Mahla produced a rolled slip of paper from her pocket. “I just have to make a withdrawal from an account is all.”

“We could make a lot more gold by taking everything they've got,” said Lila. “If you don't want an all-out brawl here then let me go in, lift the key from one of the bankers or one of the guards, then come nightfall we can go in and take what we want.”

If Mahla was going to start pushing her right to inherit the throne the last thing she wanted was to be associated with thievery. As it was she would already have a hard time because of her past as a mercenary and some of the horrible things she'd done for coin, but if nothing else she could claim that was all before she was in charge of the company, and that once she was in charge she changed them into a force for good. Not so if she had Lila rob the bank.

“There will be no robbery. I'm certain that this note will bring us all the gold we'll need. Stay here.”

Mahla dismounted from her horse and walked to the bank alone. Before she could enter, however, two of the guards stepped in her way in front of the door, “Sirrah, we're afraid we must ask you to remove your weapon.”

Mahla looked down at the sword at her hip. Asking a sell-sword to remove their weapon was like asking any other woman to remove her own head, or her heart. Mercenaries knew that their sole worth in the world came from their weapons, and their abilities to wield such weapons. She WAS that sword, how could she go anywhere without it? For a moment she considered telling the guards that if they forced her to remove her sword they'd have to force the rest of her company to remove theirs as well, a threat that was sure to get her in the door, but then she remembered that she was taking her first steps toward being more than just a mercenary. If she was to be queen she needed to think of all of Arx as an extension of herself, not just her blade, and so she handed over the sword.

“I'd better get that back when I come back out,” she said, pointing an accusing finger, before walking into the bank.

The ceiling was high and arched, tapestries hung on the walls, and there was a desk with two seats in front of it. Sitting on the other side of the desk was a man in his mid-forties, bald, and somewhat portly. As Mahla entered the banker was speedily signing papers, muttering to himself. Each paper he signed he handed off to a boy of eleven years standing nearby. Perhaps his son? Or grandson?

Mahla approached the desk and cleared her throat. Without looking up the banker said, “No loans. Can't afford to be giving out loans right now. Damned Duke Jachai has borrowed so much gold lately it's going to bankrupt me!”

“I'm not actually here for a loan,” said Mahla.

“Ah. To open an account, perhaps?” the banker looked up from his papers and put away his quill, his demeanor suddenly becoming quite friendly.

“Actually, no, I already have an account, but I haven't touched it in many years. You see, I'm Mahla, daughter of Uri.” Mahla handed him the rolled up slip of paper. “I'm assuming you are Tabor?”

“Yes...” the banker, Tabor, took the paper and unrolled it, his eyes widening and his hands starting to tremble as he read the contents. “You're here about account number 121073614...” Even as he said the numbers he turned pale and began to sweat at the temples.

“Yes, is there something wrong with that account?” Mahla asked.

“Quite a lot of gold in that one...” Tabor said, his hand clutching something hidden under his shirt. Mahla could barely make out the shape of it. It was a skeleton key, hanging on a chain around his neck.

“Really, now? Well, I'd like to close the account. I'll take everything in the vault associated with account number 121073614.”

“Everything?” Tabor looked like he was about to be sick.

“Everything,” Mahla confirmed.

The truth was, the gold in that account was nearly all that Tabor had left. The note gave Mahla the right to all of the gold in the account, and if Tabor gave it to her he'd have nothing left to loan anyone else until his greatest debtors paid him back. What's more, if anyone else with a large account came in trying to make such a large withdrawal he was sure to go bankrupt. He needed to find some way to fix this situation, and quickly.

“So, tell me, where did you steal this note?”

“What now?” Mahla asked.

“You're not Uri's daughter. You don't look anything like her.” It was a flat lie, Mahla was the spitting image of her mother, plus a few scars and a few feet of height.

“Uri was my mother. The gold in that account is mine by right!”

“I don't believe you.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“A liar and a thief,” said Tabor. “You're not getting a single coin.”

Mahla's first impulse was to reach across the table and strangle Tabor. Men became very cooperative when they couldn't breathe, but she knew she had to be above that now, especially since the guards in the room were watching the situation unfold and she didn't have her sword with her.

“Look out that window,” Mahla said.

Tabor stood and glanced out the window she was pointing at, his eyes widening, “Oh...”

“The Dunn Banner mercenary company,” said Mahla. “I grew up with them, and now I'm head of the company, because Tyson passed on leadership to me when he died.”

“Are you threatening me?” Tabor asked.

“Oh, yes indeed I am,” said Mahla. “You see, everyone in the village of Mamzar, where I was born, knows the story of the night my mother died. Her house caught fire and a mercenary named Tyson, head of the Dunn Banner Mercenary Company, ran into the burning building and rescued me. Just recently Tyson died, and he passed on control of the company to me. For him to turn it over to some upstart, a nineteen-year-old girl, rather than one of his more experienced officers he must have had some special relationship with that girl, wouldn't you say?”

“I don't follow.”

“I'm saying that I have over 500 witnesses out there who can confirm that I am who I say I am, and the people of Mamzar can testify that their testimonies make sense as well. I can prove that I am Mahla. Now, do you want it getting out that you denied me my right? What do you think everyone who holds an account with you will do when they hear that you didn't uphold your end of the deal? That you withheld my gold from me? There'll be a run on the bank, and if you were to deny all of them their gold then they could go to one of the local lords, maybe even the Queen herself, and tell them of your treachery. Then they'll close you down, lock you in prison. You wouldn't want that, would you?” This was the difference between a thug and royalty, in Mahla's mind. A thug's first instinct was to threaten violence, but a queen would seek out other forms of coercion before threatening to use her armies to get her way.

“No no no! You...you misunderstand...all I was saying was that I needed proof that you were Mahla, that's all, and you've provided it. Right this way, madam, I'll show you to your vault.”

Tabor led Mahla over to a small trapdoor in the floor, which he unlocked with the skeleton key he kept on the chain around his neck. Beyond the door was a long staircase leading downward, the vault was deep underground. At the bottom of the flight of stairs Tabor lit one of the lamps hanging on the wall and led Mahla over to a large, iron door, with the number 121073614 etched into it.

“Here we are.” The lock on the vault had six dials, each with symbols on them. Tabor turned each of the dials to a specific combination of symbols; a crescent moon, a four-pointed star, a twenty-pointed star, a skull, a tree, and a rose, and there was a loud click from the vault door. Tabor turned the handle and opened the vault.

Mahla caught her breath when she saw what was inside. There were piles and piles of gleaming gold and silver coins, enough coin for four generations to live a life of luxury. Just how important was it for King Othniel to keep Mahla's birth a secret? With that much gold spent to keep her mother quiet King Othniel must have truly believed the fate of his kingdom rested on Amasi's marriage alliance with a western princess. Considering that Amasi never married said princess, and war broke out between Arx and Nihilus not long after his death, Othniel may have been right.

“I'm assuming you'll need a few wheelbarrows to take all of this with you?” Tabor asked.

“Do you have any chests I could use?”

“I could provide a few.” Tabor sighed. For a fleeting moment he'd hoped the mere inconvenience of hauling so much gold would change Mahla's mind about withdrawing everything at once.

Over the course of the next hour Mahla and her mercenaries hauled out several chests full of gold. Mahla could hear them murmuring amongst themselves as they began to see just how large the fortune was, this was certainly more gold than any of them had seen in one place before. There were a plethora of problems she needed to address immediately. Some of the mercenaries were likely thinking, “If this much was in one account, how much gold is in that bank?” Others were likely thinking of making off with just a single chest of gold, or asking Mahla to split the gold evenly amongst them.

“I want you all to listen to me,” Mahla said, addressing the whole mercenary company. “This gold is but a means to a much greater end. I have a plan to make us far richer even than this.” Mahla held up the other slip of paper that had been in the box, “This letter proves that I am the daughter of King Amasi and, as such, the rightful Queen of Arx.” Mahla waited for them to finish arguing and murmuring amongst themselves before she continued, “I intend to begin a campaign to take back what is rightfully mine. Before this year is out, I will be Queen of Arx, and all of you will be knights, nobility in my court. You will all be granted something far more valuable than gold, you will be given land and titles. Not only will you be rich, your children's children will be rich! You will live in castles, have servants, even have mistresses.” Again she waited for their murmuring and crass jokes to die down before continuing, “I know how much gold most of you spend on harlots after a job. Imagine what it would be like if women lifted their skirts for you just because of your title, just hearing your name. Imagine if all those who mock you now, treat you with scorn, and spit at you, had to bend a knee in respect. If you cooperate with me that's the life you'll have. I swear to you!”

There was some whispered murmuring amongst the sell-swords. Mahla strained her ears to see if she could get the gist of any of it, but members of the Dunn Banner were well-versed in the art of secret conversation. Gavivi, a member of the Dunn Banner who was from the deserts of Subra, was the first one brave enough to speak, “What makes you so sure you will be queen? You may have a claim, but unless the nobility or the Council support you...”

“I have a plan in mind for that. From what I understand of the current Queen of Arx, she's hardly popular with the nobility. Gaining the support of the Chancellor is only a matter of a simple bribe, and the Grand Duke will likely side with the nobility, that's two-thirds of the Council we can easily get in our pockets. But before we can do any of that we need to make ourselves...heroes, in a sense. Get the public eye, and our former employer, Marquis Husam, has presented us with that opportunity.”