Mir'kadi, Tenth of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel
The traders were well into their haggling when Eskander reined his charger onto Ardaran Road. Two and three-story buildings butted up against each other along the thoroughfare like the walls of an angular canyon. The ringing of tinkers' hammers echoed off the white plastered façades, a shrill counterpoint to the clamorous buzz of negotiations. It was midday and Tinker's Notch was crowded with throngs of customers seeking the district's artisanal wares.
Eskander rode down the boulevard; the steady hoof beats of his stallion heralding his presence. His tunic bore the ochre and sky-blue checkered pattern of the Ca'Dezer Cavalry, the uniform assured his unhindered progress more than the iron-shod hooves of his warhorse. The crowd parted before him like a school of baitfish around a gliding shark.
Various aromas vied for attention. The spicy scent of roasting meats roused hungry bellies while imported Terranakan perfumes enraptured the senses. Paid shills sang out promises of quality and low prices, tailoring their spiels to the passersby like fishermen angling for the big catch.
Eskander spurred his horse into a canter as he turned into a less crowded street. The pale stones of Therander Lane gleamed in the morning sunlight, creating a magnificent path that ascended straight from Tinker's Notch into the heart of Gavalene Hill. Unlike the Tangles, where decades of dirt clung to the buildings, the villas that lined the winding streets of Gavalene reflected the sun's brilliance.
Eskander's destination, the Grinding Wheel, was an inn that straddled the border between the privileged elite of Gavalene and the sweaty plebeians of the craftsmen's ward. Originally, the building had housed an upper-class hostel known as Gentry's Rest. The previous owner, a disgraced noble, had sold the establishment to a curskin whoremonger as a farewell insult to his former peers.
As Eskander steered his horse along the side of the inn, a grubby boy emerged from the stables. "May I take your horse, sir?" the boy asked, straightening his hat.
"Stabling won't be necessary," Eskander said, tossing the boy a copper coin. "However, I would appreciate it if you would keep Phraxes here company while I go inside."
The stablehand tucked the coin into his patched jerkin and tipped his hat. "Yes, sir, gladly."
Eskander took off his embossed, steel helm and handed it to the boy. He adjusted his scale armor with a few short tugs and smoothed back his sandy brown locks.
The Grinding Wheel was built in the revival style that had fallen from fashion a hundred years prior. The exaggerated curves of its gabled roof were a stark contrast to the symmetry and square proportions of neighboring homes. It had been years since the weather-stained walls, and mossy alcoves had received any attention. Above the sweeping veranda that ran the length of the inn, the establishment's namesake hung from a chain. It was a worn blacksmith's wheel covered with chipping scarlet paint that advertised the building's ignoble purpose. The Grinding Wheel was one of Reyza's most notorious brothels.
Inhaling deeply, Eskander straightened his shoulders and strode up the steps that led to the tiled porch. He placed a hand upon the brothel's wooden door and paused to look around. Across the street, curious onlookers assessed his intentions. Eskander narrowed his eyes and glared at them with such vehemence that all but small children cringed before moving on with their business.
Eskander pushed open the door with chagrin. The Grinding Wheel was the last place he wanted to be seen entering.
The interior of the brothel was as posh as the outer façade was distressed. Eskander stepped into the wide, vaulted foyer. Mahogany walls soared up to a dome inlaid with jade. Brocade curtains shielded the parlor from daylight, imbuing the room with an intimate ambiance. Tendrils of rillweed smoke swirled between the wooden pillars and curled around the fronds of ferns planted in marble urns. Music emanated from a second-floor balconette where an unseen trio of musicians strummed a tranquil melody.
Beyond the glow of the oil lamps, Eskander discerned scantily clad women lounging on velvet couches and settees. Tucked away in alcoves, some of the concubines lay with companions, indulging them with wine, food, and shameless caresses. From a shadowy corner, a girl with golden tresses arched, letting the décolletage of her robe slip down to reveal a pair of pert, tawny breasts. Closer to Eskander, a copper-skinned woman with sultry eyes and wide hips dipped her hand between her thighs before beckoning to Eskander with glistening fingertips.
Eskander swallowed hard, then looked away. He was less unsettled by the women's flirtations than the idea that anyone of worth, let alone a Seh'nahiel noble, could be found in such a despicable locale.
The Grinding Wheel was among the last places Eskander would ever expect to find one of the arrogant and aloof citizens from the great City of A'diel. The Seh'nahiel held as much esteem for Reyza as they did for a steaming turd. They were an insular and condescending lot who treated other bloodlines with a detached imperiousness that bordered on contempt. Were it not for their deft politics, powerful magic, and incredible wealth they would not be tolerated in Reyza, let alone welcomed.
Eskander had minimal experience dealing with Seh'nahiel, and that suited him just fine—the nobles of Reyza required enough ass-kissing and hand-holding as it were.
Eskander stepped into the dim brothel's parlor and glowered at the nearest concubine. The dusky-skinned woman rose from her divan and approached him with the slow, predatory steps of a huntress. Her hips swayed with promise as she circled him, eyeing him like a piece of meat. "We don't get the pleasure of entertaining many from your order, but the ones who do frequent our establishment never disappoint. The Ca'Dezer certainly know how to ride."
Eskander raised his chin. "I am not interested in your entertainment."
The woman's fingertips traced up along Eskander's arm as she turned to face him. "Are you certain? We can provide many forms of diversion, good sir."
"I am not here for a woman," Eskander replied.
"You wish the pleasure of a boy?" the woman asked.
Heat rushed into Eskander's cheeks. "What!? No, I seek a man!"
Eskander winced when the woman let out an amused giggle. He could have kicked himself for stammering.
The woman's heated glance dropped to Eskander's groin. She licked her lips. "I seek a man as well."
The seductress knew her trade well and was gifted in the dance. Eskander gritted his teeth and ignored the tightening in his breeches. He continued with a more professional tone. "Mejtress, I am here on official business."
"Oh, I see." The woman's demeanor shifted as swiftly as storm clouds. A scowl replaced the inviting shine in her eyes as a patron pulled away from the embrace of a concubine and began to dress with haphazard alacrity. The woman placed her hands on her hips and squared off in front of Eskander. "Well, then you best be quick about it. You are bad for my business."
"Your business?"
"Yes, my business. Let's knock off the little-boy-lost act, shall we? I am Lyssandra, and the Grinding Wheel is my house. If you are here about noise complaints, I have already paid my fines this month. Your comrades have already plundered a full week's worth of earnings to leave me and my girls in peace. I am not paying you one filthy penny more until next month."
Eskander clenched his fists. "I am no grifter here to pry money from your hands, nor am I aware of any complaints or fines. If city guardsmen are extorting you, tell me the names of these criminals and I shall see to it they are properly dealt with. The Ca'Dezer Cavalry serves all of Reyza without prejudice."
Lyssandra let out a whistle of disbelief. "Listen, I don't know who you are or what you've been drinking, but you do know you are in Reyza, yes? The city guard, including your precious cavalry, serves its own interests first. As for ratting out your peers, I have no need for any more enemies. I am quite satisfied with the list I've made over the years." Another patron slunk out the front door. "So, unless you have personal needs to be fulfilled—out with it, or out with you. Every minute you stand here is costing me sequins."
Eskander held no illusions about his peers in the city guard. Ever since Lord Justiciar Tsardon had taken office, standards had diminished. The prestige of public service was fading, and accusations of corruption galled his sense of honor. He lowered his voice. "Despite your experiences to the contrary, not all of us take our vows so lightly. That said, I accept your decision to avoid reporting this crime. Should you change your mind, I am Lance Corporal Eskander Johar of the Fifth. I promise I shall do everything in my power to provide the justice you deserve."
"Right now, I desire to have you on your way. How may I hasten your departure?"
"As I said before, I seek a man—a Seh'nahiel known by the name of Redmane."
Lyssandra's expression turned to stone at his words. "I do not know of any person by that name, Seh'nahiel or otherwise."
Drawing himself upright, Eskander summoned the full force of his authority. "Whores by profession are practiced liars. I have little doubt that you are an expert in your trade. Therefore, I will ask you a single question and caution you to consider your answer before speaking." Eskander spoke with steely calm, his words crisp and clear in the smoky air. "Should I believe your answer there will be no need for further investigation. However, if your words ring false, I shall summon the entire Fifth Cavalry to surround and search your brothel from top to bottom. They will be thorough, though being horsemen, do not expect them to be gentle or polite. All infractions uncovered, no matter how trivial, will be cataloged, reported and prosecuted." Eskander's voice grew cold. "Should I find this Redmane present, I shall personally see to it that you are immediately seized and imprisoned in the dungeons of the Chancellery of Justice until such a time that you may be brought before a tribunal. A woman of your vocation is surely familiar with the tales of the prison's hospitality. The choice is yours."
The color drained from the woman's face. Her eyes darted away from Eskander in fear. He could sense her struggle with the idea of betraying a patron's trust. Tired of delay, Eskander brusquely stepped forward until his armored form loomed over the scantily clad woman. Lowering his voice to a menacing timbre, Eskander growled, "Where is Redmane?"
Lyssandra's eyes fluttered, and for a moment Eskander thought she would faint. He grabbed her arms to stop her from falling. Mistaking his intent, Lyssandra's eyes shot open with fear, and her bladder released its contents in a gush. "Please don't arrest me! He's in the back room! Sweet addonels have mercy; he is in the back!"
Eskander guided the trembling woman to a nearby divan. "Where is this back room?"
Lyssandra raised her finger and pointed to the far corner of the parlor. "Behind the tapestry."
Eskander looked upon the defeated woman with a twinge of regret. He preferred a lighter touch but wasn't past striking the fear of the gods into unwilling citizens when his duty demanded.
"Thank you for your cooperation. My offer to free you of your troubles still stands." With that, Eskander crossed the parlor, ignoring the harlots who darted past him to console their mistress.
Eskander swept the expensive tapestry back with a forceful swipe to reveal a secret door. From beyond the door came muffled laughter. Impatience goaded him to yank the door open and be done with it, but he reconsidered. Regardless of his opinion, Deneven seemed to hold great respect for the Seh'nahiel in question. More importantly, the Justiciar believed the foreigner's aid was necessary to rescue the Vise's daughter. Eskander quelled his urge to kick the door down and knocked instead.
When there was no response from inside the chamber, Eskander inhaled deeply. He knocked again, his mailled knuckles denting the wood.
The laughter stopped. A moment later, the latch was unlocked from the other side. With a creak, the door opened. A young woman peeked through the crack, her bright eyes traveling the length of Eskander before settling on his face. "Well, hello there, handsome! I think you have the wrong room."
Before Eskander could reply, a foreign-accented male voice called out from the depths of the room, "Is that the wine?"
The woman smiled at Eskander as she called back over her shoulder. "No, sweetness, it is only a lost soldier."
"I am not lost. I am Lance Corporal Eskander Johar of the Fifth Ca'Dezer Cavalry. I have come here to speak with Redmane." Eskander stiffened, bracing to push into the room should the girl attempt to close the door.
"I am not accepting any more visitors at the moment, as my arms are overflowing." The man's muffled laughter was accompanied by feminine giggles. "However, if you have wine, I am confident we can spare a moment for you."
Eskander gritted his teeth. "Deneven D'Neir dispatched me. He has instructed me to inform you that the Dragon is calling in all his markers."
"If that is what he wishes so be it. Tell Dennie I will call upon him tomorrow to settle accounts. As you can imagine, I am presently and quite pleasantly engaged." The sound of a slap on a firm rump followed by a pleasured squeal punctuated the reply.
"My apologies." Eskander clenched his fists, but his tone remained cordial. "Chief Justiciar D'Neir was adamant that you speak with him immediately."
"Bel's hairy balls! The old man's timing is damned inconvenient. Trinn, please let our guest in."
The girl winked at Eskander, then opened the door wide to reveal a sumptuous chamber. Red and gold velvet covered the walls. A lyssian carpet with a floral motif served as the base for a nest of luxurious sheepskins and silk-covered pillows. A tangle of naked, nubile bodies lay among the pelts. Eskander made out the forms of three women lying upon another body. Only the man's feet were visible, dangling from beneath the mound of soft, moaning flesh. Heedless of Eskander's presence, the women continued to kiss, suckle and caress their client with enthusiastic devotion.
The man raised a hand between two supple thighs and waved in Eskander's general direction.
The woman who had opened the door gestured to an elegant chaise. "Have a seat."
Eskander ignored the offer. "Majster, we need to leave now. I insist."
Giggling girls tumbled from the furs, revealing a long-limbed man less than twenty seasons of age lying amongst the pillows. Redmane was unlike any Seh'nahiel Eskander had ever encountered. He didn't appear anything like a pampered noble. The man's athletic body rippled with strength. His features bore the dignified, angular contours of his brethren, but his youthful complexion was browned from countless days spent under the sun. Battle scars marred the smooth skin—some appeared to have brought the man to the threshold of death's door.
The Seh'nahiel rolled to his feet with the grace of a jungle cat, then brushed aside long, auburn locks from his face. His emerald eyes glowed with an inner light—proof that Bel'Eldriim blood flowed through his veins.
"As you wish," said Redmane. He stepped past the edge of the sleeping pallet and spread his arms.
The woman named Trinn poured water into a copper bowl, then set it at Redmane's feet while the other women fetched vessels of oils and soft cloths. The Seh'nahiel noble was engulfed in a flurry of activity as the women laved his body with fragrant oils and combed out the knots in his hair.
Eskander was shocked by the man's lack of shame. He averted his eyes and cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable. The brash youth bore no resemblance to any skilled woodsman he knew. Eskander wondered if this errand was some sort of joke.
A warm, roguish smile appeared on Redmane's lips as he looked beyond Eskander. "Hello, darling."
Eskander turned in the direction of the ranger's gaze and froze. A few paces beyond him stood a monstrous dog-like creature with raised furry hackles. The pitch-black brute was twice the size and brawn of the biggest war-dog he had ever seen. The beast's eyes blazed like hot embers, and when it opened its maw in a silent snarl, it revealed a volcanic inferno burning within. He could feel the intense heat of its breath.
Eskander's hand instinctively moved to the sword at his side. The reaction prompted a warning growl from the hellish creature—a powerful, rumbling sound like that of an earthquake.
"Easy, girl, Eskander here is a friend." At Redmane's words, the ferocious beast's fiery tongue suddenly lolled, and her tail began to wag so hard that her rump shook. "Go play now. I will call you when I need you."
The beast let out a distorted bark and bounded away through the open door, seeming more like a faithful hound than a monstrosity borne of nightmares.
"I take it that's the first Khorvassian vulk you've ever encountered."
Eskander forced himself to relax and released the hilt of his sword. He smoothed his hair in a blatant attempt to mask his unease before turning to face Redmane, "I thought vulks were a myth, a legend made up by the barbarians of Cypricha to keep outsiders away from their sacred mountains."
"Vulks aren't a myth; Shenn is as real as real gets. However, you aren't completely wrong. Vulks do tend to discourage folks from wandering the Khorvassian Peaks." Redmane moved to allow the women to strap worn, well-oiled leather armor onto his body. The seal-brown armor was more scarred than the flesh it protected. "Don't let Shenn worry you. She only attacks those who wish me ill."
"I intend no threat, sir, but I will see you to Deneven."
"Indeed, I have no doubt of that." Redmane's chuckle was light and carefree. "Trinn, please have my horse brought round. And Lance Corporal Johar's as well."
"Thank you, that won't be necessary. My horse is saddled and ready."
"I see. Then let us not tarry further." Redmane strapped a Seh'nahiel long sword to his waist. The narrow blade was magnificent. Eskander calculated its cost at two years of his salary, assuming he could ever find one for sale. The weapon appeared as well seasoned as the man and his armor. The tracker then slung a carved bow over his shoulder that made the sword seem plain by comparison. Faint traces of green light pulsed along the wooden grain of the longbow's ribs. Eskander let out a soft gasp. The mystical properties of Draengale Wood were legendary.
Redmane gave the girl named Trinn a lingering, sensual kiss before plying each of the women with a fistful of A'dielian-minted gold coins. After brief farewells had been exchanged, he clapped Eskander on the shoulder. "Let's go see Dennie."
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