Seven Swords by Michael E. Shea (the speed reading book .TXT) 📕
- Author: Michael E. Shea
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Book online «Seven Swords by Michael E. Shea (the speed reading book .TXT) 📕». Author Michael E. Shea
“Hello, A’deem,” said Ca’daan.
“Brother!” the thick man said, smiling. He had changed in the last year. His arms had grown thick, his dark hair had grown long but had receded to halfway back his head. His skin was dark and as rough as leather. How much the man had changed in the six years since he traveled to Fena Kef, fallen in love, and decided to stay there. When the woman had robbed him and run off, he was too ashamed to return to Fena Dim.
“How do you fare?” asked Ca’daan.
“Well! The silver rolls in. I hired the boy here and can still pay the guards. Business is good!” He looked at Ca’daan and his mood shifted. “And you? You’re four months early, Ca’daan.”
“I need your help, my friend.”
A’Deem left his booth to the boy with a strong threat and whispered to the mercenary who walked the lane. He took Ca’daan to an outdoor ship that sold sticks of shriveled birds and wood cups of murky water.
Ca’daan told his tale and watched A’deem’s expression. They both ate but when Ca’daan remembered the impaled men cooking on pikes he could no longer stomach the bird.
“You’re sure they will come north?” asked A’deem.
“I am,” said Ca’daan. “These were no profiteers or bandits. They want blood and they will wait until they can go north to get it. There was reason to their murder.”
A’deem considered this. He ran his hand through his hair as Ca’daan’s uncle had done.
“I don’t know, Ca’daan, but you are here now. I don’t know where you’ll hire enough veterans or mercenaries to go to Fena Dim. Not for two bags of salt. This is not a friendly or honest place, no matter what tales your grandmother told. If I hadn’t paid both that boy and the mercenary, either would have off with my meat.” A’deem clapped Ca’daan hard on his back. “Stay with me tonight and we will talk more in the morning.”
Ca’daan accepted.
The sun fell over the horizon as A’deem and Ca’daan returned to A’deem’s shop. Behind the storefront A’deem had a surprisingly large room. He piled up a stack of musty blankets into a bed and showed Ca’daan the way out the back to the trench that took waste out from the backs of the canvas and mud huts. They hobbled Ca’daan’s horse, keeping it tied within the back of the tent to avoid theft. A’deem trusted the mercenaries he paid, as did the others who paid them to watch the alleys, but one could never be too careful.
The next morning they ate dry bread, two strips of lean meat, and two eggs fried in animal fat on a skillet of black scorched iron.
“You’re not likely to find warriors willing to talk for free, much less fight for you, but the Warrior’s Court is where those who swing swords reside. Come back to the store at high sun and we will dine away from the heat.”
Ca’daan sold one bag of salt and used the strange silver coins to board Gray Cloud. The cost was horrible but it was that or the horse would be stolen. He sold his other bag of salt and wrapped the coins within the cloth ankle wrap of his left sandal.
Ca’daan made his way to the Warrior’s Court. Strange sights, sounds, and smells came in from all directions. He felt dizzy. A thin man with wild eyes and red lips grabbed at Ca’daan and screamed in a tongue Ca’daan could not understand. Ca’daan pushed him and the man fell, crawled upright, and fled.
Elaborate booths selling arms and armors of leather and iron lined the Warrior’s Court. Ferocious men with painted and scarred skin glared at Ca’daan as he passed. Four men in black scale armor, the same armor as the men who stopped Ca’daan the day before, marched with heads high. Everyone parted as they came. Ca’daan heard whispers as they passed but could only make out one word. “Trex”.
Ca’daan saw a man dressed with a circular bronze plate guarding his chest and a polearm strapped to his back. He had to begin somewhere. Ca’daan bowed to the man and kept his eyes low as he spoke. He could feel the man’s eyes burrowing into him as he spoke.
“Noble warrior. I beg for your service in protecting my home village from red murderers who threaten us.”
“How much?” said the man.
“We have food and shelter to fill your belly and warm the cold nights.”
The man struck hard. Ca’daan felt the side of his face go numb. He touched it and felt his skin swelling and growing hot. He realized that he was sitting in the dirt but didn’t remember falling there. By the time he stood, the man was well past.
Ca’daan’s lip swelled. The street felt darker and within each face he saw anger and violence. An hour passed before he worked up the courage to ask another man for aid. This one was tall and broad with a wide-bladed sword on his back. The man laughed at Ca’daan but at least he didn’t hit him.
As the sun set, Ca’daan realized that he had wandered throughout the entire day. His cotton tunic was drenched with the sweat of the day. His stomach rumbled. He hung his head and walked back to A’deem’s booth. His friend cheered for him when arrived, handing him a piece of wet meat for the swelling of his cheek.
Sleep did not come upon him easily that night. He stared at the top of the canvas roof above and reconsidered his decision to come. Young foolishness had always been his weakness. Nearly thirty five summers old now and still he traveled on a notion of nobility that did not exist in the world.
As his eyes closed, however, he saw the licks of red flame turning pink skin black on men who screamed for mercy and received none. If he should fail, those screams would come from his uncle or Edlin’s daughters. He must try again.
Ca’daan returned to the warriors court wiser than the day before. He kept his distance from the more ferocious men but even detecting that grew difficult. He approached a light-skinned man with long hair, a diamond tattooed over one eye, and two swords strapped to the back of his black boiled leather breastplate. Ca’daan bowed and asked for aid. The man’s cold eyes never changed.
“No.” he said and walked on. The word sounded like the edge of a knife. It made Ca’daan’s skin crawl just to hear it. He watched the man pass.
“Avoid that one, sir, or any like him,” said an older stout man polishing a bronze breastplate from a nearby booth covered by strange animal skins. “Sai Routha. Very dangerous. They assassinate kings and queens in their beds with a thousand guards surrounding the room. One of the old god-kings spoke of condemning them. He had used them to secure his throne but was so scared of them that he wished them eliminated. He was dead the dawn after the thought had entered his head and chaos met the desert for a thousand years.
“You’re not likely to find those willing to help for nothing here. Warriors come to make money here, not protect villages with the goodness of their heart.”
“Where, then, sir?” Asked Ca’daan. The man laughed at Ca’daan’s formality.
“Try the brothels and gambling dens. Try the parlors of the red lotus. Go where they seek play, not work, and you may find their hearts and minds softer than here.” The man smiled. “Don’t ask those on their way in, though. Get them on the way out when they’re relaxed. Also avoid those who lose at the bones or tiles. They may cut you down just to appease their bad luck. Those who have just left their seed or those with a sack full of silver may have a more open view of your plight.”
“I thank you, my friend,” said Ca’daan.
“My own village was burned in a feud between two lords seven years ago. I wish I had done as you do to protect it. Good luck to you,” the man smiled at Ca’daan again and Ca’daan smiled back, bowed, and started off. The man coughed and pointed the opposite way. Ca’daan laughed and started back the opposite direction.
The fine construction of the brothel and gambling district impressed Ca’daan. Not a single canvas shack lined this street. Buildings of wood and stone rose two and even three stories tall. A carved statue of a beautiful naked woman reached to the sky, palms pressed together and head low, a smile on her lips. Whispers of silk and crimson wrapped the statue but hot wind blew them continually revealing the statue’s detailed virtues.
“Why not sample the real thing?”
Ca’daan turned and saw an older woman, legs bare under a short sarong. She shifted and a bare breast fell out of her loose wrap. Ca’daan felt his skin get hot and unable to come up with any suitable response, moved on. He heard laughter behind him as he walked.
The sounds of lovemaking and the cheers of the games filled the streets. Tradesmen and soldiers walked with the urgency of desire or the slow ease of satisfaction. Ca’daan worked up the nerve to ask a long-haired axe wielder for the aid he sought. The result was the same but the man’s attitude was almost apologetic. The bronzeman had been right. This was a much better place.
A commotion from one of the gambling dens caught Ca’daan’s attention. A crowd of people rushed from the entrance of a building of sandstone and marble. They pushed and spread into a circle when a large man wrapped in strips of leather walked out and bared a long waved sword. He swung the sword easily in his left hand and cracked his neck. Ca’daan saw his muscles rippling as the man stretched.
“Barik will eat the northerner. I’d bet six to one,” said a man in fine silks and a wide-brimmed dyed purple hat.
“Done!” said a man on his left and held up three silver coins.
“Eat him, Barik, and you drink on me!” said the man in the purple hat.
Another man stepped from the gambling den. He was light skinned and had hair of gold. He wore a black tunic and gray trousers tucked into the top of supple leather boots folded down at the knee. The man, the northerner, tied back his hair and handed his black leather three-cornered hat and cloak to a dark skinned boy who followed him.
The northerner drew a long thin blade from his belt and examined it. He cut through the air twice and the rapier whistled. Ca’daan caught sight of the rapier’s hand guard. The guard was molded from silver in the shape of a woman, her back arched, touching the swords pommel with her feet and the guard with her hands. The crowd murmured and whispered when they caught sight of the jewels in the sword’s twisted handguard.
The crowd grew silent as the two men faced each other. The large man, Barik, breathed deep and his large chest expanded. The northerner pulled on his leather gloves and held his rapier to his chest in a strange salute.
The duel began. Barik crashed into the northerner, his sword cutting hard into the rapier’s handguard. They pushed into the crowd who
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