Piers had told Gabria once that the latest Fon had poisoned her husband and had pinned the blame on Piers’s daughter. His daughter had been tortured and executed as a sorceress.
Sick at heart, Piers had turned his back on Calah and Pra Desh. He had never returned to his homeland or the city of his birth, and his sense of rage and injustice had been deeply buried behind a facade of resigned sadness.
Gabria studied Piers’s back as he rode ahead of her. Then she nudged Nara forward to walk beside the healer’s horse. The old brown mare nickered pleasantly to Nara, who towered over her, and the Hunnuli answered in kind.
Piers smiled wanly at Gabria. He hated getting wet. “I suppose it is too late to change my mind.”
“Not if you don’t mind a long ride back to the treld.”
He glanced over his shoulder to the dark line of storm clouds and rain that could still be seen behind them. “I don’t think so. It’s drier here.”
“For now.” Gabria studied her friend for a moment before she asked, “Piers, what is the city like?”
He grimaced, surprised by her question. “What, Pra Desh?” He gestured to Khan’di ahead of them. “Ask him.”
The old anger and grief were very clear in his voice. Gabria was startled by the intensity. “Do you know him from before?” she inquired.
“Yes, and he knows me.” Piers glared at the man’s straight back. “He is the son of one of the wealthiest merchant families in Pra Desh. He was a courtier and my good friend. He is also cunning, ambitious, and clever. He was supposed to be the Fon’s taster, but on the night the Fon was poisoned, Khan’di fell conveniently ill. I was nursing him instead of dining with the Fon.” Piers’s fingers tightened around the saddle horn. “I could have saved the Fon if I had been there.” He shook his head sadly. “I’ve always wondered if Khan’di deliberately feigned his illness.”
“I’m sorry,” Gabria said, knowing how useless that sounded.
The healer shook himself and laughed. “Why? It is I who should be sorry. I came on this journey to face those people, to remember my daughter, and to banish my inner hatred. I am off to a poor start,” He fell silent.
Gabria thought Piers had forgotten her question. She was about to repeat it when he drew out a small wineskin and took a long swallow. He slammed the stopper back in and looked up at Gabria. His pale gray eyes were twinkling.
“You asked about Pra Desh?” His hands flew out in a grand gesture. “The queen of the East. There is no other place like it in the world. It is huge, sprawling, magnificent! It is a city of incredible squalor and unbelievable wealth; of palaces, teeming wharves, markets, bazaars, and tenements.”
Gabria stared at the healer, surprised by his sudden change of mood. She rarely saw Piers so animated.
“Pra Desh is the center for all trade and commerce in the East, you know,” he noted. “Every road, caravan route, and shipping lane leads to Pra Desh. You can find anything available in the known world in that city. There are schools of great learning, libraries, academies of art, and theaters. The city is rich with artisans, philosophers, explorers, merchants, seamen, teachers, noblemen—and overflowing with slaves, peasants, and criminals.” Piers laughed. “Gabria, you have never seen anything like it.”
The girl tried to form a picture of this incredible place in her mind. “It sounds so . . . big,” she said lamely.
“You have nothing to compare to it, nothing that could help you fathom its size. The entire population of the eleven clans would be lost in the old part of the city.”
Gabria’s mouth went slack. It suddenly occurred to her that, not only was she riding into a hornet’s nest, it was much bigger than she expected. How could she do anything useful in a city so big? “Well, if they have all of those people, why do they need me?” she asked, exasperated.
“Ask him,” Piers replied, pointing at the nobleman again. “He’s the one who made the demands.”
“Khan’di!” Gabria shouted. The other men looked around in surprise, but the Pra Deshian pretended he had not heard.
Piers looked annoyed. “I’m sorry. In Pra Desh, women must always address a man by his full name. To do less is to show a lack of respect.”
Gabria gritted her teeth. “Khan’di Kadoa, may I please speak with you?”
At that, the nobleman half-turned and nodded once.
While Nara trotted forward to join the other rider, Gabria tried to put on a pleasant and sociable expression. She knew very little about this man, and what she did know she was not certain she liked. He was of medium height with a stout figure turning to fat. A mustache hid his thin mouth, and his shrewd eyes were almost lost in the folds of his ruddy skin. He was often polite to the point of arrogance and had the confidence of a man who was used to being obeyed.
Gabria could not help but wonder what his true motives were for asking her to come to Pra Desh. Was he setting an elaborate trap, vying for his own power and influence, or was he truly concerned for the welfare of his city? His hidden motives would not change her decision, but Gabria would be happier if she knew what to expect from him.
Since Gabria did not know how to salute the emissary and it was difficult to bow on horseback, she inclined her head politely to the man. Khan’di looked up at the sorceress on the huge black horse and returned her greeting.
She threw her hood back and let the wind tug at her hair. “I was talking to Piers a moment ago,” she said. “He told me how big your city has become.”
“It is the largest city in the Five Kingdoms, perhaps in the world,” Khan’di answered proudly. “I’ve heard that Macar is bigger, but that was several years ago, before their tin mines began to decline. Since then their trade has fallen slightly. Pra Desh, of course, has widened its influence throughout the Sea of Tannis. Our merchant fleet is the largest and . . .”
Gabria sighed to herself as he talked on. It was the most she had heard him say in four days. She smiled and held up her hand. “Khan’di Kadoa, excuse me, but you are speaking beyond my experience. I know little about Pra Desh or its shipping.”
“Oh, of course. Forgive me,” he said. “Was there something in particular you wanted to know?”
“I was curious,” Gabria continued. “Why, in a city so large, could you find no one to remove Branth? Why did you ask me?”
“Because,” Khan’di said, irony edging his words, “sorcery is forbidden in Pra Desh just as it is on the plains. We do not have the clans’ intense hatred for the arcane, but it was more convenient and safer to outlaw it. To outlaw such practices keeps magic-wielding foreigners from coming into the city and disrupting the trade.”
Gabria straightened and gazed at the man in surprise. “Foreigners? I thought your people could use sorcery, too.”
“No. Only the clanspeople or those with clan blood in their ancestry have the power to cast spells. Many wise men have studied this unusual inherited trait, but no one has discovered why only the clans have such power.” He lifted his hand eloquently. “To put it bluntly, you were the only one available.”
“Wonderful,” Gabria muttered. “All right. If I am to go to Pra Desh as a sorceress, what guarantees do I have for a safe passage? Will I face Branth with my magic, only to be put in prison if I win?”
Khan’di reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a scroll sealed with the stamp of his family. He held it up. “The Fon rules the roads of Calah, but within Pra Desh, I am patron of the powerful merchants’ guild and head of the most respected and influential family in the city. If you are successful in routing Branth, you will be paid handsomely from my treasury and escorted with honor back to the borders of Calah. I give you my word as a Kadoa.”
Gabria was skeptical. “What of your Fon? She will not be pleased to lose her personal sorcerer.”