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There was something morbidly satisfying about watching Utunma writhe in a turncoat's agony.
Bookended by Captain Sabin and a second Knight of Amenthis, Mahir strolled through the ravaged town without haste. The sacking of Utunma had been done at his orders, and he wanted to see every inch of what that had wrought. Streets slick with overturned barrels of fish oil and blood were no deterrent to the king; today he dressed like the warrior heir of Amenthis he was now determined to become. No more showy capes of hand stitched cloth-of-gold and doublets fastened with sparkling gems for Mahir.
The king of Goran wore a full bodysuit of black leather armor, enhanced at the breast, shoulders, fauld and tasset by plates of molded steel. The only concessions to royal status were a short, rose-red cloak, pinned at the shoulders by bronze medallions bearing the crest of Amenthis, a similarly scarlet pendant belt which draped down the front of the embossed plates of his fauld, and of course the crown of Goran. Mahir had had the armor made in the likeness of Amenthis' portrait on the fresco in the basement of Castle Armathain, and with Utunma freshly retaken he felt worthy of the uniform.
The reclaiming of Utunma had been a brief, definitive business. Riled up and bloated with a sense of accomplishment, the southerners had at first had the audacity to barricade the road into town and stand their ground. They stood on the rooftops, waving spears, machetes and stones at the army scouts, screaming demands for the soldiers to 'go away' and 'stay out of the south'. All that bravado had been cut abruptly short though when the Third Company began to spill out of the jungle, stretching nearly all the way around the edges of Utunma onto the beaches. Red, black and gold banners like a crescent Blood Moon cornered Utunma against the vast emptiness of the sea.
Already cowed by the show of military might, the townsfolk scattered like the dock rats they were the minute the Third broke down the barrier across the road. A tell-tale lack of boats left in the harbor suggested that many had wisely fled out onto the ocean. More than half of Utunma's residents had been too poor, too slow or too proud to sail away. These the soldiers of the Third dealt with summarily.
The oldest and the youngest were placed under house arrest, with no one allowed out into the streets under pain of death. By the time Mahir reached what remained of the magistrate's office in the main square, the army had just finished herding all men and women of age into the large warehouse beside docks. Market stalls, their wares dumped unceremoniously onto the cobblestones, now served to prop the large warehouse doors closed from the outside. No doubt some of the people inside were injured by the Third's scouring of Utunma, if the cries and groans of distress coming from inside the coral and driftwood building were any clue.
It occurred to Mahir that he had been here before. Pausing, he stood in the centre of the rubble-strewn square and turned on the spot. Yes, the town prison that way, the scaffold over there, royal banner hung from those rooftops. It had been here that all this Factionist mess started. No doubt the infamous BlackPearl knew and remembered this place and that day well. Mahir recalled her clearly now.
Standing here, the hot southern sun beating down on his head and the smell of salt, sweat, and smoke heavy in his nostrils, Mahir closed his eyes and saw them all again. Four southerners kneeling on their bare knees, chained together and trembling before justice was meted out. High Obad Lirien and Tomur, assessing the rogue Obad and declaring him waste. The condemned man's wife, skinny and screaming, trying to fight her way back to her new husband's side even as he begged for her life. In this place, Mahir could almost hear the girl's wails echoing once again.
It was a mistake; letting her live. Mahir knew that now. If only his marriage to Gwynnis had not so recently softened his heart, perhaps he would not have been so handily swayed. If only he had been stronger, firmer, more just, he would have allowed justice to carry out its course and Goran would have gone on. Perhaps all this unrest was his punishment for having bent the laws of their world for one unhappy wretch, all to appease his own love-struck heart.
Never again, Mahir decided. If it was indeed the BlackPearl here, in Utunma, then the king resolved that she would die this very day. And not only her, but all of her supporters too. There could be no question in Gorians' minds going forward; this world belonged to the heirs of Amenthis, both by birthright and by authority of will. By the time Hithon took the throne, Goran would once again know the natural order of things. This Mahir swore on the crown at his brow, the love of his living son, and the stars of his dead wife and second child.
"Lieutenant Vanti," Mahir called out.
One of the Utunman Guards, who had helped to retake the town after being put out of it, snapped to attention, leaving barricading the survivors inside the warehouse to other soldiers.
"Yas Your Grace" he was quick to respond in the thick, rolling southern accent. The man's bronze armor was darkening near the seams from lack of recent maintenance, but given the circumstances Mahir overlooked the lapse.
"Myself and my officers will be setting up a field headquarters in the former magistrate's office. Find the one the townsfolk have been calling the BlackPearl, and bring her to me, immediately."
"As you command, Your Grace."
Mahir left the guard to tackle the task of identifying one woman from a crowd of many packed inside the stifling warehouse. Meanwhile, he and Captain Sabin made their way across the square to the magistrate's office. It had been locked up since the death of its occupant, but Sabin made quick work of the barricade. Inside they found a mess of toppled shelves, scrolls unwound along the floor, and broken glass from the shattered windows. A handful of younger conscripts were called for, and soon the young men, in between nervous glances at the king out the corner of their eyes, had the furniture righted and at least enough of the mess cleared to make the space functional.
"Captain Sabin, I want a regular patrol set up in the streets, and a watch on both the docks and any paths no matter how small into the jungle. Anyone caught walking the streets without leave or trying to flee Utunma is to be executed on sight. Until we cull the Factionist ringleaders from the rest, no one comes and goes in this town without my express permission."
"Shall I entrust the Utunman Guard to maintain their own patrol groups, or shall we mix their numbers with soldiers of the Third to ensure order, Your Grace?" asked Sabin.
"I trust that those members of the town guard whose neighbors threw them out into the wild will not need any further questioning of their loyalties." Mahir tested the narrow wooden chair behind the magistrate's desk before sitting. A leg protested, but the seat held. "Oh and one more thing; set fire to any boats remaining at anchor by the docks. No sense leaving temptation for any would-be escapees who might by some luck escape their homes or the warehouse."
Sabin hesitated, a rare occurrence which prompted the king to raise an eyebrow at his captain. The northerner's marble-fair skin was already beginning to pink around the ears and behind the neck. Despite that and the sweat on his brown, Sabin spoke calmly. "By your leave, Your Grace, perhaps it might be considered to leave the boats? If they have not been used thus far, then it may be that their owners were loyal to the crown and remained in Utunma when they saw their king coming to restore order? Even if not, to leave these people entirely without boats will cripple their source of industry. After you have reasserted your authority here, it may send a positive message to other unruly communities that life will be good again once they return to the fold."
Trying not to deliberate too long in case Sabin interpreted that as uncertainty, Mahir sat tapping his finger against the side of a dried out inkpot. Had he not just moments previous committed to taking a firmer hand with Factionists? But, Sabin did have a point. If the boats did belong to loyal subjects who had simply been unlucky enough to be caught up in the midst of their rebellious neighbors, it would hardly be much incentive to continue honoring their king if he ordered the source of their livelihoods destroyed after the fact. Besides, it was not every last civilian of Utunma that Mahir had a quarrel with; just one in particular, and those who enabled her.
"Very well Sabin, you argue the point well," conceded Mahir. "The boats shall stay. But I want at least a dozen men on guard along the entire dock length at all hours of the day and night."
Sabin bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Grace."
Sabin left to set about ordering the lockdown of Utunma, leaving behind a handful of his Knights to guard Mahir. Mahir knew all of his personal bodyguards well, and took a few minutes to enjoy remarking with the men at the ease with which Utunma had been retaken. If this was the best that the Factionists had to boast, then Mahir reckoned he might yet have this little uprising settled before Yuletide. The arrival of Vanti with a prisoner in tow did nothing to disprove that notion. At least, that was, until Mahir got a clear look at the woman.
The so-called BlackPearl of Utunma was brought to a sharp landing on the floorboards before Mahir when Vanti kicked the backs of her knees out from under her. She was a mess, her scanty southern attire dirtied by sweat, blood from a shallow cut across her collarbone and what looked like lantern oil. Even before seeing her face, Mahir knew that this wasn't the woman from his memories. This stranger was generously figured enough to draw the eye of any hearty man, built for a life of carrying everything from children to wash baskets on her hip. The BlackPearl that Mahir had been expecting would have been lean, ready like a whip and full of fire.
Still, there was fire in the glare that met him from beneath the woman's disarrayed black curls. She curled her lip at him but said nothing. No, this was not the BlackPearl; too womanly, too homey, too silent. So it seemed that the genuine article was in Moaan then, leaving her proxy to stir things up in her hometown for her.
"You are sure that this is the one?" asked Mahir.
Vanti lowered his head, picking up on the king's doubt. "She's been going by 'BlackPearl' for a while now, Your Grace, but I can tell you for sure that she's not the real BlackPearl. I was part of the Guard when the real one escaped from prison here. This one's called Sahar CoinDancer, and she was longtime friends with her. The woman you're looking for's name is Vinie, Your Grace. Vinie PearlDiver."
It may not have been the BlackPearl herself, but that was certainly something Mahir could make quick use of. Settling back and steepling his index fingers together, he fixed a fierce stare on Sahar.
"Sahar CoinDancer...surely the irony of your name is not lost on you? Coindancing has long been one of Goran's most appreciated and respected arts. And yet, here you are, charged with high treason against crown, country and king, the penalty for which is most certainly death. You did this, essentially killing yourself and others along with you, all for the sake of this friend, this Vinie PearlDiver?"
Sahar glowered up at Mahir, not bothering to rise with Vanti looming nearby in the cramped magistrate's office. Sunlight filtering through the broken windows highlighted, besides floating motes of dust, rising purple bruises on her otherwise handsome face.
"Coindancing isn't Goran's art," she hissed, fingernails visibly digging into the flesh of her skinned knees. "It's Utunma's art...Danitesk's art, Moaan's art. It and a lot of other things you try to stamp with your capital seal belong to us; the sea-folk. My art belongs to the south, and the south only. We made it, we taught it, we practice it. We own our ways, just like we own ourselves. Not you, not anymore."
It was tempting to let out a low whistle at that little speech in the manner of a common cattle merchant. Instead Mahir simply raised his eyebrows and looked to his Knights of Amenthis.
"Odd. And here I thought that the reason our world has flourished in peace for so long is because we share the beauties and wealth of our many peoples. It appears I was mistaken!" As the knights and guards laughed, Mahir laid his hands on the desk, index fingers now pressing together to point like an arrow at their smart-mouthed prisoner. "Well then, seeing as you're going to be impertinent on the matter, we may as well skip the niceties and go right to the business at hand. Lieutenant Vanti, who else was involved in Utunma's little rebellion?"
Vanti seemed only too happy to speak up. "Vinie BlackPearl hasn't been seen in Utunma for nearly two years, and when she left she took her closest followers with her."
"And who might those be? As much detail as you can, if you please," said Mahir.
"There was her dad, an old dried out bit of burlap by the name of Bakko PearlDiver. He's not much anymore; spent most of the ten years she was in prison either drunk or starving or both. Bakko had a bad leg though, and always walked with this funny limp that made him stick out real nice in a crowd. Last I saw him, he was so scrawny and worn-out looking that I'd be surprised if he's lived this long, Your Grace."
Mahir turned to the Knight closest to him, who was listening with rapt attention. "I do hope you're making a record of all this," he said casually. Instantly the man jumped, practically tearing a blank piece of sun-dried parchment from the corner of the desk and setting a stray stick of charcoal to it. "Go on Lieutenant."
Ignoring Sahar's poisonous glares up over her shoulder, Vanti nodded. "The BlackPearl also took an old friend of her dead husband...actually I'm more than a little sure he was the one that hid her after she first escaped. His name's Gideo, and he was one of the best SkinPainters Utunma had before he got mixed up with her and her Factionists. I'll bet anyone ten Sols that he's the one playing her bodyguard right now; people have been saying that there's this big tall fellow always seen with the BlackPearl whenever she's spotted around Moaan."
Something about that sparse description twigged at Mahir's mind. Suddenly even more intensely interested than he had been, he paused to ensure every word was being scribed down before pressing Vanti further.
"A bodyguard, you say? Tall and southern-born? And how would you describe Gideo SkinPainter?"
Vanti's mouth curled in distaste. "You'd be hard pressed to dig up foul waters on a man like Gideo. He's one of those blasted sorts who seem to win everyone over no matter where they go. Always popular, always wanted, that Gideo."
"What did he look like though, Lieutenant?" The Knight transcribing their conversation was getting fed up with all the extra wording, and so was Mahir. Vanti seemed to realize that he was rambling and hurriedly rattled off an annoyed sounding description.
"Half a head taller than me, curly hair, good build, past thirty years by now but probably looks five-and-twenty. He's got tattoos too, and lots of them; seals, otters, and waves, done in black across his bicep."
Although the room had been dim on the night of his near-assassination, Mahir remembered the play of candlelight across dark, tattooed arms, hovering above him and corded with effort as they tried to drive a knife down into his heart. The size and strength of the attacker as they wrestled for the blade were things that stood out in Mahir's memory too, and not just because he had been fighting for his very life.
"So..." he said, making every head in the room turn to him. "Not Wasani then, as we were led to believe. Gideo...Gideo SkinPainter."
"Wasani?" Both Vanti and Sahar had perked in recognition at the name, but only Vanti dared to speak up. "You know of Gideo too then?"
"Oh yes, I know of him," Mahir came dangerously close to sneering. "He especially I will ensure feels the full might of Gorian law, perhaps as much if not even more so than Vinie BlackPearl."
There was something deadly about the king in that moment, enough so that even the Knights of Amenthis shifted slightly around him. Nobody in that room would have wished themselves in Vinie BlackPearl or Gideo SkinPainter's places at that moment.
"And what of more local rebels, Lieutenant Vanti? Who all has been helping this surrogate BlackPearl here in Utunma?" Mahir leveled such a look at Sahar that he could see how hard it was for her not to shudder and hide her face.
"There's been a few, some more invested than others. Some old friends of the late Irem and Kore NetWeaver, to be sure. No one has been more supportive of the CoinDancer's escapades though than her very own husband, Jaafi SpearFisher."
Finally Sahar broke her silence. "That's a lie!" She shrieked, swiveling on the ground and making as if to rake Vanti's exposed lower thigh with her nails. Vanti was quick to beat her back with a kick though. "Ask anyone, they'll tell you that Jaafi's been warning me to be less brash from the start! He didn't want me to have anything to do with Vinie and her cause, I swear!"
"Ah! I wouldn't go swearing if I were you, Sahar," said Vanti. "And I assure you, Your Grace, that Jaafi SpearFisher has been very happy not only to not only tolerate his wife's Factionist leanings, but supported them loudly enough for two himself."
Mahir ignored Sahar's desperate protestations from the floor. "And where is this Jaafi now, pray tell? In the warehouse with the others?"
"Yas, Your Grace, as you ordered."
"I have a new order for you then. Pick out all the other Factionist ringleaders from the crowd in the warehouse, and secure them in Utunma's cells. At midday tomorrow, they die in the square for the whole town to see."
Sahar fought tooth and nail as Vanti and the other Utunman Guards tried to take hold of her. Her sandals found no purchase on the worn floorboards though, and she was reduced to begging before they reached the doorway.
"No, you can't! We have children, two young children! Who will look after them if you kill us both?!"
"You should have thought of that before throwing in your lot with your friend and her Factionists...'BlackPearl'," said Mahir coldly as the screaming woman was dragged out into the punishing daylight of Utunma's town square.
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