We had twenty silver between us come morning. It wasn’t enough for another night at this inn, and with the tournament a day away, we were unlikely to find somewhere better. Such was the fate of an adventurer, to go from feast to famine faster than a spinning wheel. There was surely work to be found here, and silver to be paid for it; we would just have to find it.
My head ached and my mouth was dry, and I entertained a short-lived resolution never to consume Cerean spirits again. Aysulu fared much better, having avoided the spirits in favor of berry wine, and she woke before I did and went down to the stable to tend to her pony. I ate a hearty breakfast and bathed, and that improved my demeanor considerably, and I shaved the sides of my head to show the blue spirals tattooed there. When that was finished, I packed up the rest of my things and slung my axe over my armored shoulder. I wore no tunic under the shoulder plate, as it was my wont when I was young to go bare-chested as much as the weather allowed, and I intended to do so until someone stopped me or the sun became too oppressive. With my armored skirt and laced-up boots and bracers, I was something of a sight among the citizens of the nobles’ quarter, but I would soon find that I did not much stand out among those who had come to compete in the tournament.
Aysulu dressed plainly, as she always did, and left her lamellar armor strapped to her saddle. I met her outside and we left the walled city, where the inns had no rooms we could afford, and wandered into the slums outside. The stench had not lessened overnight, and in the bright morning light the shacks looked even more decrepit than they had the previous afternoon. A line of workers, their backs bent and their steps slow, meandered up a footpath leading around the city walls and toward the mountain. These were the miners, who had rioted only a few days before. There were a handful of children playing in the mud and refuse in the narrow, dark streets.
All we needed was shelter from the weather, but I looked around and thought that we would not find it here. “Perhaps we should set up camp again,” I suggested, “away from the city.”
Aysulu nodded. It was not an ideal solution, and we would need more provisions, but it seemed to be our only choice.
Two familiar faces appeared from behind a shanty. The two boys who had pickpocketed us the day before ran up to us again. “You should come with us,” the first said.
“Whatever for?” Aysulu asked.
They glanced nervously toward the gate, where two armored guards leaned against their spears. “You’re looking for work, right? Our boss wants to hire you,” said the second boy.
It was true that we were in search of employment, though it was not clear how these children might have heard it; we had spoken of our difficulties in the inn the previous night, but that had been far from here. If work was to fall from the heavens like this, however, I was not going to refuse it.
“Very well,” I said. “We will hear what your boss has to say.”
The boys led us through the slums, under leaning roofs and through alleys so narrow I had to turn sideways to pass, and the horse whickered in agitation and had to be persuaded to enter. We came to a squat building dug into the earth, its few tiny windows all dark. Aysulu tied her horse to a post, and we went down the rotting steps to the door. One of the boys knocked three times, and then twice. The door creaked on its hinges and swung open to a dark, smoky room that looked like a tavern, with a long counter against one wall and a few rickety tables and chairs in the center.
A stout fellow with a patch over one eye stood in the doorway. “What’s this?” he asked.
“These are the adventurers Reva wanted to see,” the boy said.
The man nodded. “Leave your weapons here.”
I parted reluctantly from my axe and javelins, and Aysulu set down her bow and arrows. If this was some kind of trap, I would have to rely on my fists. I was calm despite the curious, oppressive secrecy: if someone were going to all this trouble to hire the pair of us, the work must have been of great significance—and therefore very lucrative.
We were led then to the back of the room. The boy rapped his knuckles once more against what looked like a blank stretch of wall, but a thin line of light appeared where he had struck and broadened as the hidden door opened. The room beyond was lit by sputtering oil lamps, and had no windows, and the floor was packed earth. The smoke stung my eyes and made them water.
At the table in the center of the room sat a woman and a young man. They stood as we entered, casting long shadows against the walls. We approached the opposite side of the table with solemn, quiet footsteps.
“Thank you, Nara,” the woman said. She handed a coin to the elder of the two boys, who nodded and disappeared with his companion. The secret door shut decisively behind us.
The woman was dressed in something like riding leathers, and a cloak with a deep hood. Her shoulders were broad and her jaw sharp, and her sable hair was bound in a braid from the crown of her head down to her waist. A scar over one brow and her firm handshake suggested she was no stranger to work or fighting. “You must be Eske and Emilia. Thank you both for coming. My name is Reva.”
Aysulu returned her gesture. “I’ve heard that name.”
“Until recently, I was head of the miner’s guild,” she said. “That changed a week ago. I’ll tell you now: if you intend to turn me over to the guards, I will not be here when you return.”
“That was not our intention,” I assured her.
Reva indicated the young man with a nod of her head. “This is Khalim.”
He was tall and gangling, with a slightly bent posture that put me in mind of a fisher-bird, and a mop of brown curls the same color as the stubble on his jawline. His clothing was simple and oft-mended. “It’s very good to meet you,” he said, shaking Aysulu’s hand. When he took mine, he added, “You’re a long way from home, my friend.”
He was of a height to meet my gaze, and his eyes were so dark they were almost black.
“I am,” I said, before I could think to lie or to spin the story of my travels.
“Please, sit,” Reva said. “We should talk. I’ve brought you here to discuss hiring you.”
We complied, Aysulu opposite Reva and myself opposite Khalim. The chairs creaked, and their legs were not all of one length. The grime on the surface of the table was hopelessly worked in.
“What is it we can do for you?” Aysulu asked.
“I want you to win me the Sword of Heaven.”
What madness was this? I looked sidelong at Aysulu, but she kept her eyes on Reva.
“There are only two of us,” I said. “We cannot enter the tournament.”
“That is where we can help each other,” Reva explained. I have hired a scholar for the contest of poetry, and Khalim here is a magic-worker of no small talent. You will be a team of four.”
I had longed to compete since I had come to Phyreios the day before, and had thought it out of my reach. I tried to hide my eagerness. “What’s in it for us?”
“The winner’s purse, if you’re successful. Ten thousand silver pieces. If you lose, and obtain the sword by other means, you will be paid a lesser sum, though still a substantial one.”
That was more wealth than I could even imagine. I had little concept of what I could purchase for that much silver, but it seemed almost infinite in its potential. I had already defeated one of the competitors in an informal bout, and having seen Aysulu’s skill at archery, I was thinking rather highly of our chances.
“I cannot pay you anything up front,” Reva continued, “though you will be provided with food and lodging from now until the end of the festival. Officially, your team is sponsored by the miner’s guild. I represent the poorest of us, you understand, and we have little to spare.”
Aysulu leaned forward, placing her arms on the table. “What use would you have for the sword? Do you intend to sell it?”
“It is a symbol of the favor of true gods, and a weapon against false ones,” Reva said gravely. “That is all I can tell you now.”
I did not much care what she wanted with the sword. I had before me the opportunity to test my strength and ability against the finest warriors of this part of the world, and a chance to win a great treasure, besides. “I am all for it,” I said.
Aysulu was wiser than I. She held up a hand. “The workers in the city say your people killed a watchman in the riot last week. It’s dangerous for us to involve ourselves in something that would put us at odds with the law here.”
“Is that what they say?” Reva said with a mirthless laugh. “Did they also tell you that five of the miners also found death at the end of the watch’s spears?—six, if Jora does not recover, and it appears that he will not. We were desperately outmatched, and the guards struck first.”
Khalim had been silent until now, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “There’s another man wounded?”
Reva did not turn to look at him. “Jora knew what he was getting into. He is a soldier who died in battle.”
“But I can heal him.”
“It’s too dangerous.” Reva shook her head sharply. “I don’t have the men to spare to keep you safe. Jora will likely be dead by nightfall. It is a sacrifice he was willing to make.”
Khalim’s brow furrowed, and his long fingers curled into fists on the tabletop. “He does not need to make it.”
Before Reva could refuse again, Emilia stood and addressed Khalim. “Do you believe you can heal his injuries?”
Without hesitation, he answered, “Yes.”
Reva did not contradict him.
“Very well,” Aysulu said. “I propose a show of good faith. I have a horse; Eske and I will fetch this Jora from where he is hiding and bring him back here. You’ll see that we support you and have no intention of turning your people in to the watch. In exchange, we must know the full extent of your plans and our involvement in them.” She held out a hand.
Reva clasped it. “Agreed. Though I will not blame you if Jora should pass along on the way. He is in very poor condition. His house is the last at the end of this row.”
We recovered our weapons from the doorman and left the dark tavern, squinting in the brightness of the sun. Aysulu untied her horse and led it down the muddy path toward the end of the row. The last house was shuttered as tightly as it could be, with rotting boards that did not fit, and no one came to our first knock.
I knocked again, more insistently, and a woman opened the door. Only her face was visible in the darkness, and her eyes were shadowed from many sleepless nights.
“Is this Jora’s house?” Aysulu asked.
The woman leaned out to look past us. “Are…are you with the watch?”
“No,” I said. “Reva sent us. She has a healer who may be able to help, but we need to take Jora to him.”
“I don’t think anyone can help my husband now,” she said, but she stepped back and allowed us into the house.
I, too, had my doubts. If Reva believed he would die by nightfall, even a magical healer might not save him in time. My clan had such a practitioner, and I saw him work once, when Fearghus had taken an arrow through the shoulder in a skirmish. It had taken many hours of ritual: the drawing of runes on Fearghus’s flesh and in circles on the floor around him, the burning of herbs and bones, and chanting to call down the favor of the gods. Fearghus had still been weak for some days afterward, and if he had been more grievously wounded or we had waited longer, he could have still taken a fever and not lived to sail north with me the following summer.
Aysulu and I entered, and Jora’s wife pulled back a curtain dividing the house into two small rooms. The smell of rot and sickness was overwhelming. Jora sat on the bed, slumped against the wall, muttering deliriously to himself. His injury was to his abdomen. I could not see the extent of it in the dim light, but I could tell he burned with fever as soon as I stood beside him.
“Jora?” Aysulu called softly.
He did not answer.
“You’ll need to lift him,” she told me. “We’ll put him on the horse with me. Be gentle.”
She left and climbed into the saddle. I wrapped Jora in his blanket and picked him up, my arms under his shoulders and knees, careful not to disturb his wound, and carried him out of the house. He barely reacted to being disturbed, only moaning quietly in pain when I lifted him. In the exterior light, I could see his wound was a festering ruin, his entrails held in by bandages soaked with blood and pus. I handed him up and Aysulu sat him on the saddle in front of her, her arms holding him upright. She kicked the pony into an even gait and took him back to the tavern, with me running after.
I lifted Jora down when we reached the door. He had gone silent, and his breathing was shallow and labored. Aysulu dismounted and knocked on the door, and the doorman answered and ushered us inside. Reva and Khalim had cleared off a table in the center of the room. I set Jora down there and stood a distance away, assuming Khalim would need space to work.
He did not. He simply placed one hand on Jora’s brow, and the other over his wound. A soft glow emanated from his hands, as of sunlight filtering through clouds, and his eyes shone with a brighter golden light. All this illumination faded after a moment, and Jora sat up.
He tore the filthy bandages from his belly and stared in amazement. The skin there was unmarred, with nothing but a smear of blood and dirt to indicate that there had ever been an injury.
I stepped back. Aysulu and I exchanged a look, my surprise and wonder reflected in her face. The songs and stories of either of our peoples had never held anything like this. What god or spirit did this man serve, to be granted such power?
Jora took Khalim’s offered hand and got up off the table. He stood tall and steady, without so much as swaying. “I…my back does not even ache, and it had pained me since I was young.” He dropped to his knees then, taking both Khalim’s hands in his. “I cannot begin to thank you, sir. You—”
“Oh, no, no,” Khalim said. He knelt with Jora, and addressed him eye to eye. “It is the gods you should thank, not me. I am only their instrument.”
“Then I thank the gods through you,” said Jora. He accepted Khalim’s help to his feet. “I should return to my house. My wife must be worried.”
Reva clapped him on the shoulder. “It is good to see you well. Tell no one what has transpired here. Word must not get back to the city.”
He nodded, and slipped quietly out of the tavern.
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