The thôrhk—the orb key—was gone.
And he could feel no heartbeat within his chest.
Sau’ilahk.
At the hissing whisper from Beloved, his god, Sau’ilahk tried to scream and only choked.
You have what you always desired ... a body immortal and immune to death. Does this not please you?
And the only way he could answer was within his own thoughts. No! Not flesh like I was ... not undead still. What have you done—allowed to happen?
You blame me?
Sau’ilahk faltered. Beloved had not led Chane Andraso here, had not instigated the fight that led to this. Still, had his god somehow known? Once again Beloved had deceived him, tricked him with a half-truth as fulfillment of a promise from a thousand years ago.
Something more occurred to him....
He had lost both the orb and the key to which Beloved had guided him.
It is of no matter. That orb ... that anchor of Existence ... served its first purpose and will serve again where it now travels. It shall serve, as you will, until I am free at last.
Sau’ilahk went colder inside than the chill of his dead flesh.
He—his desire, his anguish—had been nothing more than a tactic for some purpose known only to his god. He was left with a corpse, not as a body but as a prison.
Be content ... servant.
This time the hiss carried a threat, like the scales of a great serpent grinding grains of sand in the dark place of dreams where it slept.
Sau’ilahk felt a faint, uncomfortable tingle on his skin.
Light grew over the forest to the east, and he waited for it to turn him to ash ... and he waited. To see a dawn after a thousand years would have once been a joy. To face it now would at least be freedom from the cruelty of his Beloved.
Sau’ilahk watched as the sun did rise, and he began to moan and sob. But the dead could not weep, for a corpse could not shed tears.
Chapter Twenty-one
Magiere leaned over the rail of the Djinn and anxiously looked out at the enormous, seething port of il’Dha’ab Najuum. She didn’t care how large or daunting it was. All that mattered was getting herself and her companions off this floating coffin of a ship.
The only other stop they’d made along the way was at a small place the name of which she couldn’t pronounce. It had been little more than a coastal trading post south of the desert’s southern reaches with no docks or piers. The ship had anchored well offshore, and only the captain and one of the crew took to a skiff that came out to retrieve them.
That one crewman had eyed her a bit long as they left. Stranger than that, the captain came back alone. Magiere hadn’t cared and still didn’t. She could easily imagine that none of the crew would stick to this vessel longer than necessary.
The air had grown continually warmer and then hotter during the journey south. Once they were on land again, they’d have to rethink their clothing and perhaps purchase lighter attire—and yet more coin would be used up. If not for that last part, she might have been relieved to think on simple things after the strain of a long, questionable voyage.
Every day, she’d felt a constant threat aimed toward someone she loved or cared for as Leesil had struggled to keep them fed without being caught. She couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that Brot’an had a hand in that as well.
Now it was over, and it wouldn’t be long until they disembarked. For once nobody had to coax Wayfarer into packing and coming out of hiding.
The girl stood on Leesil’s other side at the rail, with Chap between her and Brot’an. They were all unwashed to the point of their hair looking dull, and everyone had lost weight, but they’d survived.
Wayfarer and Chap seemed to have come to terms with the girl’s catching his rising memories at a touch. Brot’an still knew nothing about it, and Leesil thought it might even be useful instead of the dog’s jabbering in their heads with memory-words. Wayfarer might be able to take Wynn’s place in helping Chap clarify what he needed to say.
Magiere wasn’t so certain about that. There had to be more to how a quarter-blood girl, cast out by her ancestors, could catch memories from a majay-hì. But there were too many other things to face as she studied the girl.
As the ship neared another noisy city and seemingly endless port filled with humanity, Wayfarer’s expression blanched. Even to Magiere, the place looked so ... foreign ... compared to anything she’d seen in her travels.
Some structures deeper into the city still peaked high above the waterfront buildings. Some had to be huge, at a guess, for they also appeared to be set farther—and farther—into the immense capital of the Suman Empire. Every structure within closer sight was for the most part golden tan sandstone, aside from heat-grayed timbers and planks.
“What’s first?” Magiere asked.
“I know exactly what,” Leesil provided. “Find a decent inn, a bath, and a meal!”
Magiere eyed the tangled mix of vessels moored at the huge and long piers, and humans, mostly dark skinned, mingling in chaotic masses shifting along the waterfront.
“Does anyone speak Sumanese?” Wayfarer asked very quietly.
The answer was obvious: not one of them.
Magiere knew from times in other ports that it was likely some people here would speak other languages—hopefully ones that she or her companions understood at least a little.
“A place to stay first,” she confirmed. “We’ll take the day for ourselves. Tomorrow we search out this Domin il’Sänke that Wynn wanted us to find.”
Leesil had earlier suggested they set out straight for the Suman branch of the Guild of Sagecraft, but after all that had happened at Wynn’s branch, Magiere thought otherwise.
Dealing with the Numan sages hadn’t been anything like what she’d expected when they had returned to their old friend the little sage. Magiere didn’t care for even the chance of the same in a culture they knew nothing about. Better to have a place of their own, perhaps not even mentioned, when they went seeking “hospitality” from an unknown Suman sage, and a domin at that. The upper ranks of Wynn’s branch had been the least friendly of all.
Leesil had eventually relented on all this, and Brot’an had agreed, though the old assassin likely had his own reasons to keep their chosen place unknown unless necessary.
Now Brot’an turned from the rail to look about the deck, and Magiere already knew whom he sought.
“Saeed,” he called out.
The young man was helping to ready the ship for docking. He was the only one on board whom Magiere trusted a little. He left his pile of rope to come closer.
“What is it?” Saeed asked.
“We need an inn with someone who speaks Numanese,” Brot’an said.
Saeed nodded once. “There is a place close to port called ... well, perhaps you might say ‘The Whistling Wasp.’ In my tongue it is al’D’abbú Asuvära.” He spoke the last words slowly, but Magiere wasn’t sure she could ever repeat them as he went on. “The owner is at least as honest as I.” He smiled a little more. “And he speaks Numanese as well as myself.”
Saeed stepped in at the rail beside Brot’an and pointed into the nearing port as he gave directions.
While grateful, Magiere wondered again what someone like Saeed was doing on this ship with a captain and crew slightly above pirates, slavers, and slaves alike. When the Djinn finally docked and the ramp was lowered, the head of all rodents aboard appeared near the prow.