Kishrub plodded after him. The girls shrieked and ran away as the two Gorums seized entire platters. They began dumping green cheese squares and suckled dumplings down their fat gullets.
Lewd scowled. ‘How dare they!’ he thought, ‘How dare they gorge themselves on my good graces when they failed me so miserably!’ The warlord’s hand hovered over the big stone button on his throne’s right arm. His hands shook with barely bottled anger. They were standing on the trapdoor, the door that would send the two bumbling imbeciles tumbling into the Sharkgates. The warlord estimated there would be another six casualties with them. ‘An acceptable number,’ he thought. But then he stopped. Could he really afford the loss of muscle now? He needed every able-bodied man he could get.
Kishrub turned around and caught Lewd’s glower. He smiled dumbly and revealed his big yellow teeth speckled with flakes of green cheese. Lewd held the glare and Kishrub dropped the platter. The platter hit the ground with a loud clamor and rung as it spun to a rest. Kishrub grabbed Zulbash, who had just dunked his face into a punchbowl, and pulled his head out. Zulbash gasped and struggled, but then he too laid eyes on Lewd. He froze. The Gorums shuffled back to their posts.
The guards drew back the huge iron pull chains. The throne room’s reinforced double doors groaned open. The blaring torchlight of the antechamber cut through the smoky dim lit room. Lewd’s rabble shrunk back into the shadows, instantly vacating the carpeted aisle. Warlord Lewd knew his new visitors must be guests of high importance, if his guards had permitted their entrance without warning him. A breach of duty, if his guests were any other, than those he expected them to be with a sliver of brooding irritation and stinging premonition.
In marched an entire accompaniment of guards, row by row of such a force of heavily armed knights, one would think Lewd’s palace lay under siege. Their armored silhouettes glistened in the torchlight revealing glimmers of blinding gold. Merchant Knights…the elite infantry on the fat payroll of his rather obtrusive visitors. The feathered crests on their helms dangled all the way down to their ankles. The knights’ armor and swords had been laced with gold, but these were no tin soldiers, but ex-war veterans and mercs with souls as cold as bloodstone.
The Merchant Knights marched to the foot of Lewd’s throne and divided into ten orderly rows, five on either side. They turned, stood at attention and waited. A parade of servants entered next, many of them tossing flowers and unraveling a red runner over the warlord’s own rolled violet carpet. Eight collared slaves marched down the runner bearing a colorful canopied litter on their shoulders. Lewd groaned. ‘Here we go again,’ he thought. The slaves lowered the litter and a pair of slaves tied back the canopy flaps.
A slightly over-weight Shamite lay lounging on the litter under a pile of glossy silk bedding and shimmering jewelry. He looked like your typical Shamite. His face was covered in piercings, some linked together by gold chains. His curly blonde hair had been sprinkled with gold dust. He did not hurry. He licked the reddish brown coating off his fingers and finally set the platter of chocolate coated cherries to the side. He rolled off the litter and stepped daintily onto the two runners.
The Shamite rose and pulled up his skirt, decorated by buttoned trim scallops worn high above his ankles as if he loathed the very idea of touching the grimy sewer floor, even through two layers of protection. He wore a bushy golden brocade doublet over the skirt, buttoned down the chest, embroidered with thin shimmering gold plates and jewels. He straightened his ridiculously large jeweled turban. He glided toward the throne bearing that same flashy grin hereditary to all Shamites. And this one was the worst of Shamites—a mogul from the Merchant Guild.
Warlord Lewd’s blood boiled. He clenched his fists, but remained silent. ‘Why won’t you just leave us be?’ he thought, ‘You gold-sucking leeches!’
“Decorated Warlord,” the mogul said as he removed his turban and bowed, “celebrated Lord of the Underworld, undisputed Conqueror of Karus Forest…the Merchant Guild greets you in the name of our mutually beneficial partnership.” He raised himself and placed his turban back on his head. “I am Mogul Irrathane, a prince of Shamites, and anointed mouthpiece of the illustrious sheik. We have long since enjoyed the stability of our alliance with you. The gold runs thick in your sewers and we had no qualms over your directions in leadership. But as of late, I fear, events may have taken a turn for the worse.”
“Oh?” Lewd said, “These doubts surprise me, Mogul. My money counters tell me there has been no reduction in the daily levies. Speak plainly now and tell me why the good sheik should so concern himself over my recent dealings.”
“The sheik has been most displeased with your handlings as of late. Word has reached our ears that you have been thus far humiliated. You have lost many men. Your opponent waits for you out in the open and you have yet to deal with this threat. Whispers have been rippling through the underworld. They question whether you are still fit to rule. Your once button-lipped rivals grow bolder. It seems the threadbare sanctity of your sewers lies in danger of unraveling at any moment.”
“I know how to manage my own affairs, thank you! Even now plans are in motion to neutralize this threat.”
“Our sources tell us that is not the case,” Irrathane replied, “our sources tell us you spend all your days hiding under your throne with your tail tucked between your legs, soiling your robes.”
“Insolent swine!” Warlord Lewd slammed his fist down. “I said I’ll handle it!”
Mogul Irrathane raised a glittered eyebrow. “You forget to whom you speak, Warlord. Need I remind you of the powers you have aroused by your incompetence, never forget that the very lifeblood of Doljinaar runs gold!”
Warlord Lewd reigned in his tongue. His eyes bulged and he seethed through his teeth. He glared hotly at Irrathane. ‘You Shamites think you own the whole country!’ he thought bitterly. Oh how he longed to slap that smug grin off the mogul’s face!
The mogul held his gaze. His tongue licked the roof of his mouth, as if to illicit another insult that would lose the wrath of the Merchant Guild.
Lewd frowned fiercely, but he restrained himself fast. He lowered his gaze and sat back on his throne. He had not risen to the top by losing his composure every time a powerful rival rubbed him the wrong way. True, he had little competition down here in the sewers, at least none that posed an immediate threat to his power, but he would be a fool to ignore the power of the reigning sheik.
The Merchant Guild had managed to dip its hand into every market, every free or underground market from Doljinaar to their strongest allies in Gildron and Jui-Rae. It was said that a boy could not even buy a loaf of bread off the streets without somehow slipping a coin into the sheik’s back pocket.
The sheiks had been passing down the financial crown of Doljinaar for generations. The Merchant Guild’s rise to power began thousands of years ago during the Kingswar that united the human race. High King Doljinn had offered the human clans the sword or the quill of diplomacy. Tired of warring with their neighbors and enjoined with a desire for expanded trade, the Shamites chose the quill. On the day Doljinaar marched on Kurn the Shamite King left the city gates wide open and welcomed them with open arms. The legions of Doljinaar marched straight into the city and no blood was spilt. The Shamite King gladly handed High King Doljinn his crown, scepter and offered tribute.
The Shamites spread quickly over the newly formed human empire. All seemed well until the controversies began to stir. Men said the Shamite King had held back on his tribute and from this hoarding he forged the Merchant Guild. The guild spread its influence into every bazaar, trade post and over every other guild in the kingdom. The Shamite King took the title of sheik and dipped his hand into every market. True, he was no longer king, but he birthed a financial empire nearly as old as the Doljinn dynasty itself. The Merchant Guild’s stranglehold on the Doljinaarian economy held until this day. ‘Oh the blood of Doljinaar runs gold alright, Shamite,’ he thought, ‘you plague of honeyed devils!’