Phoenix Unbound
Page 85
Gilene woke with a gasp loud enough to startle half the camp awake. She apologized, citing a dream as the culprit. Her hand fluttered over her belly. Was it a dream? Or a memory of that time between time, after she walked as Agna’s avatar and before she woke up in the mud in a woodland outside Wellspring Holt?
She pondered the dream memory every day after that but, like her magic, kept it to herself. The traders welcomed her among them, accepting her as one of their own. She didn’t want to compromise that acceptance with stories of visitations from goddesses.
One early-summer evening, Hamod made an announcement that set free a horde of butterflies in Gilene’s belly.
“The Goban have invited all traders, Guild and free, to their solstice market. Since the Trade Guild no longer controls the Golden Serpent, we’ll have access to the Goban tribes and the Savatar clans they’re allied with, which means access to their silver as well.” He grinned as the other traders cheered.
Busy with the task of washing the supper dishes, Gilene swayed on her feet, made light-headed by Hamod’s announcement. Could it be? Had fate finally decided to show her some small favor and put her on a path that might intersect with Azarion’s?
There was no guarantee the Kestrel clan would be there, but she refused to relinquish the hope bursting inside her. It would take longer to reach the Sky Below by traveling the trade route, but she wouldn’t have to choose the more dangerous option of traveling it alone to reach her goal.
“Gilene, are you well? You’ve gone pale. Do you need to sit down?” Even after weeks of recuperation and assurances from Gilene that she was now fine, Halani still hovered over her.
She was alive and whole and bore no additional scars from her summoning that last fire. Agna had been merciful to her apostate handmaiden.
Gilene put away the last dried dish in its chest and flipped the towel over her shoulder. The smile she gave Halani felt like it stretched from one ear to the other.
“I feel good. Just happy with your uncle’s news. I’ve always wanted to visit the east beyond the Gamir Mountains.”
Halani nodded. “I as well. With the Trade Guild’s hold on the Serpent now broken, we can trade beyond the usual routes.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And I hope the Savatar are at the market. I’ve always wanted to see the steppe nomads firsthand. I hear they’re beautiful to behold on horseback.”
An image of Azarion chasing the wild mares across the pastures of plume grass rose up in Gilene’s mind. They are, she replied silently. They are glorious.
* * *
• • •
Summer in the lands of the Goban was a gentler season than what it was in the Stara Dragana to the west. The barrier of the Gamir Mountains blocked the fierce winds and kept the temperatures warm but not scorching along the populated territories that hugged the great trade road known as the Golden Serpent.
The high holy day of the summer solstice had brought traders of every kind to peddle their wares at the vast market set up in the tumbled remains of a Kraelian garrison. People flooded in from every town and city in a ten-league radius, while others had traveled for weeks from the western hinterlands to attend the market. A sprawling tent town, ringed by caravan wagons, had sprung up overnight, surrounding the market.
It was the first of its kind, the creation of an opportunistic group of traders, both free and ex-Guild who saw a chance to make a sizable profit without the restrictions of the Guild or the stranglehold the Empire had once placed on the trade route.
Hamod stood next to the makeshift shop his caravan had erected, surveying the tide of humanity parading past him with a satisfied smile.
He turned to the two women nearby, busy with restocking their tables and quoting prices to curious browsers. There were teas and furs to sell, carvings and small knives, silk ribbons and purses, and hats stitched with feathers and jewels.
“What do you think, eh? We’ve never done so well in a day when we were banned from trading on the Serpent.”
Halani nodded. “I suspect many free traders think the same thing, though you’ve made no friends with the Guild traders.”
He snorted. “I won’t lose any sleep over that one.” He eyed Gilene, who stood next to Halani. She carefully measured dried tea into linen pouches before marking them with a quill dipped in ink. “The east all what you hoped it would be, Gilene?”
Gilene didn’t shift her gaze from her task, but she did smile at the caravan leader. Not yet, she thought. Not quite yet. Since their arrival, she’d given herself a neck ache and blurry vision as she searched the crowds for any hint of a Savatar clansman or clanswoman. She’d even walked the entire market twice without any luck. “It’s very promising so far,” she replied out loud.
The sight of an acquaintance caught Hamod’s attention and he was off, striding through the crowd to make himself known and likely do his best to swindle the person out of a purse of coins.
“I think all of the Empire and the lands beyond are here,” Halani said. “I’ve never seen so many people in one place.”
Gilene filled the last bag with tea, made her mark, and set down her quill. She grasped Halani’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Or so many thieves either.” She snatched back a canister of tea leaves from a boy with quick fingers. He moved on to his next mark with only a brief shrug her way.
The Krael Empire convulsed at the loss of its physical and spiritual capital. The Savatar who attacked it had returned to the steppe without further fighting. There had been no looting or pillaging of Kraelag. Everything of value had been burned or melted. The Empire itself had not fallen, but the cracks in its armor were widening as vassal territories reclaimed their autonomy once they realized their master wasn’t invulnerable.
Everyone assumed the emperor had died in Kraelag’s inferno, though there were more than a few conjectures that his wife might have taken that golden opportunity to rid herself of her co-ruler.
Empress Dalvila had been wounded by a Savatar arrow but survived and currently hid behind the walls of her summer palace while her empire teetered on the brink of collapse. Gilene had no doubt a wake of vulturous Kraelian nobles gathered to swoop in and take control.
As the caravan trundled its way toward Goban, Gilene had thought of Azarion constantly and prayed to Agna that he would be at the market.
Halani interrupted her contemplations with a tap on her arm. “Can you watch the tables? I’ve started negotiating with a trader out of Palizi for a shawl I know Mama will love.”
Gilene shooed her off. “Of course. Go on, and good luck!”
She was in the middle of a transaction with a customer when Halani raced back to their booth, eyes shining with excitement. “I just heard. Several of the Savatar clans have arrived.”
Gilene’s heart instantly took up the hard beat of a war drum. She blinked at Halani, afraid to believe the news. “Are you sure?”
The other woman nodded so hard, the pin holding her braid coiled at her nape fell out, and the braid tumbled down her back. “They’re roaming through the market now. Word is their chieftains are honored guests of the Goban chief who controls this territory.” She stood on tiptoe and craned her neck to stare above the crowd, as if a Savatar might suddenly pop up amid the crowd, astride their horse.
A loud whistle made both women look to where Hamod motioned for Halani to join him and a group of traders surrounding an item covered by a square of indigo silk.
She pondered the dream memory every day after that but, like her magic, kept it to herself. The traders welcomed her among them, accepting her as one of their own. She didn’t want to compromise that acceptance with stories of visitations from goddesses.
One early-summer evening, Hamod made an announcement that set free a horde of butterflies in Gilene’s belly.
“The Goban have invited all traders, Guild and free, to their solstice market. Since the Trade Guild no longer controls the Golden Serpent, we’ll have access to the Goban tribes and the Savatar clans they’re allied with, which means access to their silver as well.” He grinned as the other traders cheered.
Busy with the task of washing the supper dishes, Gilene swayed on her feet, made light-headed by Hamod’s announcement. Could it be? Had fate finally decided to show her some small favor and put her on a path that might intersect with Azarion’s?
There was no guarantee the Kestrel clan would be there, but she refused to relinquish the hope bursting inside her. It would take longer to reach the Sky Below by traveling the trade route, but she wouldn’t have to choose the more dangerous option of traveling it alone to reach her goal.
“Gilene, are you well? You’ve gone pale. Do you need to sit down?” Even after weeks of recuperation and assurances from Gilene that she was now fine, Halani still hovered over her.
She was alive and whole and bore no additional scars from her summoning that last fire. Agna had been merciful to her apostate handmaiden.
Gilene put away the last dried dish in its chest and flipped the towel over her shoulder. The smile she gave Halani felt like it stretched from one ear to the other.
“I feel good. Just happy with your uncle’s news. I’ve always wanted to visit the east beyond the Gamir Mountains.”
Halani nodded. “I as well. With the Trade Guild’s hold on the Serpent now broken, we can trade beyond the usual routes.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And I hope the Savatar are at the market. I’ve always wanted to see the steppe nomads firsthand. I hear they’re beautiful to behold on horseback.”
An image of Azarion chasing the wild mares across the pastures of plume grass rose up in Gilene’s mind. They are, she replied silently. They are glorious.
* * *
• • •
Summer in the lands of the Goban was a gentler season than what it was in the Stara Dragana to the west. The barrier of the Gamir Mountains blocked the fierce winds and kept the temperatures warm but not scorching along the populated territories that hugged the great trade road known as the Golden Serpent.
The high holy day of the summer solstice had brought traders of every kind to peddle their wares at the vast market set up in the tumbled remains of a Kraelian garrison. People flooded in from every town and city in a ten-league radius, while others had traveled for weeks from the western hinterlands to attend the market. A sprawling tent town, ringed by caravan wagons, had sprung up overnight, surrounding the market.
It was the first of its kind, the creation of an opportunistic group of traders, both free and ex-Guild who saw a chance to make a sizable profit without the restrictions of the Guild or the stranglehold the Empire had once placed on the trade route.
Hamod stood next to the makeshift shop his caravan had erected, surveying the tide of humanity parading past him with a satisfied smile.
He turned to the two women nearby, busy with restocking their tables and quoting prices to curious browsers. There were teas and furs to sell, carvings and small knives, silk ribbons and purses, and hats stitched with feathers and jewels.
“What do you think, eh? We’ve never done so well in a day when we were banned from trading on the Serpent.”
Halani nodded. “I suspect many free traders think the same thing, though you’ve made no friends with the Guild traders.”
He snorted. “I won’t lose any sleep over that one.” He eyed Gilene, who stood next to Halani. She carefully measured dried tea into linen pouches before marking them with a quill dipped in ink. “The east all what you hoped it would be, Gilene?”
Gilene didn’t shift her gaze from her task, but she did smile at the caravan leader. Not yet, she thought. Not quite yet. Since their arrival, she’d given herself a neck ache and blurry vision as she searched the crowds for any hint of a Savatar clansman or clanswoman. She’d even walked the entire market twice without any luck. “It’s very promising so far,” she replied out loud.
The sight of an acquaintance caught Hamod’s attention and he was off, striding through the crowd to make himself known and likely do his best to swindle the person out of a purse of coins.
“I think all of the Empire and the lands beyond are here,” Halani said. “I’ve never seen so many people in one place.”
Gilene filled the last bag with tea, made her mark, and set down her quill. She grasped Halani’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Or so many thieves either.” She snatched back a canister of tea leaves from a boy with quick fingers. He moved on to his next mark with only a brief shrug her way.
The Krael Empire convulsed at the loss of its physical and spiritual capital. The Savatar who attacked it had returned to the steppe without further fighting. There had been no looting or pillaging of Kraelag. Everything of value had been burned or melted. The Empire itself had not fallen, but the cracks in its armor were widening as vassal territories reclaimed their autonomy once they realized their master wasn’t invulnerable.
Everyone assumed the emperor had died in Kraelag’s inferno, though there were more than a few conjectures that his wife might have taken that golden opportunity to rid herself of her co-ruler.
Empress Dalvila had been wounded by a Savatar arrow but survived and currently hid behind the walls of her summer palace while her empire teetered on the brink of collapse. Gilene had no doubt a wake of vulturous Kraelian nobles gathered to swoop in and take control.
As the caravan trundled its way toward Goban, Gilene had thought of Azarion constantly and prayed to Agna that he would be at the market.
Halani interrupted her contemplations with a tap on her arm. “Can you watch the tables? I’ve started negotiating with a trader out of Palizi for a shawl I know Mama will love.”
Gilene shooed her off. “Of course. Go on, and good luck!”
She was in the middle of a transaction with a customer when Halani raced back to their booth, eyes shining with excitement. “I just heard. Several of the Savatar clans have arrived.”
Gilene’s heart instantly took up the hard beat of a war drum. She blinked at Halani, afraid to believe the news. “Are you sure?”
The other woman nodded so hard, the pin holding her braid coiled at her nape fell out, and the braid tumbled down her back. “They’re roaming through the market now. Word is their chieftains are honored guests of the Goban chief who controls this territory.” She stood on tiptoe and craned her neck to stare above the crowd, as if a Savatar might suddenly pop up amid the crowd, astride their horse.
A loud whistle made both women look to where Hamod motioned for Halani to join him and a group of traders surrounding an item covered by a square of indigo silk.
