Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Koragi was glad for the spare cushion she had brought. By the time the sun began its descent in the sky, she was stiff and sore from being cramped between a dozen crates and barrels. With the cushion, at least her backside didn’t suffer the scratches and bruises the rest of her body sustained from the uneven road. She tried to find a better position, but that only resulted in a bump on the side of her head when the wagon hit a rut and tossed her against the rear wall. She opted to stay there against the wall, stuffing her cushion between herself and the wooden planks. The wagon jostled her less in the corner by the smaller crates of salted beef, and she could see out the back to where Tebanis and his horse kept pace with the caravan. His dark, watchful eyes peered out over the plains surrounding them.

They had traveled a few hours north of Cordak and the unusual heat had not abated. With little movement of air where she sat, drowsiness came over her. As she relaxed, she imagined that she was in a pleasant place, the jerking beneath her becoming the rocking of a small boat upon a lake. She looked out at the sprawling land around her, and it transformed into a river carrying her beneath a canopy of tall trees. A man stood near her, shrouded in a black cloak and bearing a long pole which he used to steer the boat as the easy current pushed them forward. Koragi smiled, relaxed, and peered out at the imaginary line of trees. The large cedar trunks began to dwindle until they reached a part of the river surrounded only by grass.

Koragi squinted when she saw dark shapes on the horizon. They were small, but they seemed to move quickly, coming toward the river. As she stared, she realized abruptly that her daydream had already ended. She jerked forward and placed a hand on the crate next to her, pointing out at the horizon where the black shapes looked much closer than they had a moment ago.

Before she could call out a warning, the wagon pulled to a stop and the oxen stomped and grunted. The militia men on their horses shouted, and she drew away when Tebanis approached the back of her wagon and lowered the canvas in front of her. Gerian ushered the children into the back from the driver’s seat. Koragi shifted to the canvas and pulled it aside to look out at the clamor of shouts and drawn steel. Two archers among the militia guards nocked their arrows and aimed in the direction of the approaching creatures.

Following the direction of their gazes, Koragi released a quiet gasp and her stomach clenched. The unformed shapes melted into a pack of snarling wolves and yapping goblins. The small humanoids were about three feet tall, with grotesquely green skin protected by deer pelts. Each brandished a sword or spear. Deep red grease streaked the wolves’ fur, marking them as goblin-trained beasts. Their beady yellow eyes glinted with intelligence, filling Koragi with dread when she thought one of those sets of eyes locked onto her.

The militia horses were work animals and did not have the stomach to face the wolves. Tebanis dismounted first. Drawing his thin-sword, he rushed the pack of beasts and swung rapidly. Koragi stared in wonder as the blade effortlessly cut down two of the goblins in moments. The other villagers cheered from the front of the caravan as two arrows whistled through the air. Only one struck the wolf that had made a break for the rear wagon.

Koragi’s fingers clutched the canvas tighter when Tebanis lunged after the unrelenting wolf with a speed that seemed almost unnatural. He tackled the beast to the ground and sliced the animal’s throat with his sword before they had even stopped sliding through the grass. A sharp yelp announced the quick death of the wolf. Tebanis moved again with a billow of his cloak, his boots kicking up a tuft of dirt as he pivoted to meet the next wolf that darted forward. Three goblins remained, but the speed at which the caravan guards had killed their fellows gave them pause. The guards ran to meet them, causing the goblins to squeal commands in their harsh tongue. They sent the last two wolves to attack the guards and fled the scene to save their own hides.

By the time Koragi’s gaze shifted back to Tebanis, he had already turned to help the two militia guards. The young seamstress felt her pulse race, unable to look away. Tebanis moved fluidly through the tall grass, as if accustomed to the trials of the terrain. The grasping grass did nothing to hinder his movements as he hurried to his companions, who had drawn long knives. They met the fierce wolves while the creatures’ terrifying growls chilled the onlookers.

The militia men struggled. One shrieked as a wolf closed its jaws over his wrist. The man began to strike the wolf’s head with his other fist in his panic. Tebanis brandished his weapon before him while he shifted his feet and skidded across the ground. His sword slid through the first wolf’s rib cage and burst through the other side with a sickening crack of bone. The second wolf dropped after two arrows struck its neck and the uninjured militia soldier buried his knife to its hilt in the animal’s neck.

Tebanis turned his blade down and thrust the tip into the dirt to make the weapon stand upright. He drew a kerchief from a pocket and approached the guard who had knelt to nurse his wounded wrist. As the caravan prepared to continue the ride to the city, with children excitedly reenacting parts of the fight and the women whispering about the bravery of their guardians, Koragi settled back into her seat between the crates. A guard opened the canvas again, giving her a clear view behind the wagon.

The militia men were far enough away that she could not make out their words, but it was evident, even from the distance, that the injured guard’s wrist had been broken by the powerful jaws of his wolf assailant. Once the others wrapped and placed it in a makeshift sling, they clapped him on the shoulder and went back about their watch. The injured guard stepped up into the back of the wagon with Koragi while the rest mounted their horses and urged the caravan forward.

Additional company in the wagon seemed pleasant at first, but the man could speak of nothing other than his injury and the short battle that had taken place. Koragi reluctantly listened to every word, offering fitting reassurances that he would be in fighting shape again in no time at all. He was friendly, but he made a few inappropriate suggestions that made her turn her attention elsewhere. Injury or not,

he

had certainly not been the most impressive thing about that fight. He had a bottle of whiskey to stave off the pain until they reached the city, so she did not begrudge him his candor. As long as he remained on his side of the wagon, she had no trouble letting him talk to the crates and barrels.

The sky began to grow dark, with dull clouds rolling in from the west to cover the sun long before dusk. A chill settled on the wind that made Koragi grateful for her long sleeves, which she unrolled down her arms. With the threat of rain, the excitement of the coming night in Eiskre faded. They expected fewer potential customers in a storm, and Koragi heard talk of waiting until morning to set up their stalls. She did not mind either choice. The city had tall hooded lanterns with brilliant white fire that illuminated the streets enough that the visitors could set up their goods if they wished. Only a terrible storm would prevent Koragi from displaying Myra’s stock.

The breeze was still gentle and there was no lightning to indicate a bigger storm, but Koragi knew that some of the others were simply eager to get to the Commons Hall in the city. There, she and the others of the proper age would put their names forward for the drawing that determined who would receive a formal invitation to attend the Festival Ball. The rest of the villagers could remain where it was warm while they awaited the results of the drawing. They had never traveled to the inner city to attend the official reading of the names drawn, but the officials of Eiskre also announced the names in the Commons Hall in the South District. Now sixteen, Koragi was old enough to place her name in the pool, but given the great number of young women who clamored for a spot on the list, she decided she had no real cause to think she might go.

And while Koragi was not one to partake in the all-night festivities of song, dance, drink, and feasting that followed the reading of the names, she had no qualms about doing business with those who did. Pockets tended to be looser following a night of merriment.

The noise of the city reached Koragi’s ears before she saw any visual signs. Eiskre was alive with excitement even as the sky grew darker still and the chill remained on the breeze. There was no moisture in the air. The clouds were thin enough overhead that an occasional star shone through them and it seemed that their night would be busy with the setup of their corner of the markets after all. Tonight the two moons of Camriiole were not visible, clouds or not. The Festival marked the beginning of Joma, the first of the spring months, and this was the first night of the new moon cycles.

The caravan exuded an anxious buzz as it approached the tall white walls of the capital city. A short line of wagons and horses rested ahead of them, each amidst inspections of goods and belongings. The guards of Eiskre subjected all Festival attendees to a thorough review prior to entrance to the city. Many of the guards present for the Festival bore the red and white of Raitom to the west. Each year the great military city of Raitom sent small detachments of guards to assist with security. It was a long process, with less paperwork than invasive searching; even Koragi was restless by the time their caravan finally passed through the gates with signed entrance papers indicating their number and the goods they carried.

The dark of night did nothing to diminish the awe of the villagers from Cordak. Though most of them had seen Eiskre before, they gazed up at the splendor of the city with wonder. Beyond the southern gate into which they had entered, tall alabaster buildings reached into the dark sky, illuminated by great white fires contained in massive lanterns at the tops of poles that lined the streets in all directions. Patchwork splashes of color ran along the edges of the buildings, creating intricate geometric designs that seemed foreign to the small-town visitors. Great stone archways stood as entrances into various sections of the district, each marked and guarded by a pair of sentries wearing the white and blue of the city.

In spite of the chill in the air, the streets swelled with people and work animals. The markets were packed, even this late. Children ran about the streets in their colorful jerkins, waving ribbons and sticks as they chased one another through the stalls. Burgundy and olive were the favored colors of the season—as indicated by many coats and aprons worn by the citizenry. They were the colors of the gods they celebrated during this three-day event, and all were eager to gain a little favor by displaying their gratitude.

The bustle was not as raucous as it had been in years past, but the small caravan from Cordak still had some difficulty picking through the masses. No matter how often they came to the city, they were never quite prepared for the sheer size of the crowds. It seemed impossible that a city this size could exist with any efficiency or order. Guards walked every street in pairs. Messengers on ponies or on foot darted about as if aflame. The chaos was incredible.

There was only one inn in the South District that stood conveniently close to their corner of the markets. The caravan went there directly. The Happy Lantern was a modest place that saw much business during the festivals. With huge wooden panels adding a decorative flair to the wide front windows and whitewashed brick steps leading to the heavy wooden door at the entrance, the inn stood out from the residences around it. During the Fertility Festival, it was one of the first to sell out all its rooms, so the Council of Cordak had arranged an annual reservation system with the owners.

When the caravan arrived at the three-story building, Koragi crawled out of her hiding place and stretched her limbs and muscles. Her body ached from the trip, and she wished for nothing more than to go inside and retrieve the key to one of their rooms so that she could curl up on a blanket-laden bed. But there was still much work to do. Whether they took part in the festivities or not, none of the villagers would be fortunate enough to have an early night.

Koragi did not carry the crates a second time. The men of the village took care of the storage of the horses, the oxen, and the wagons, along with their goods. Koragi joined Ravian, Gilly, and Jori, as well as Miss Adger—a middle-aged woman who had ridden in the back of the first wagon with some of the children—in gathering the youngsters who had accompanied them. The children were tired and knew well to keep their excitement in check lest they become lost in the sea of people, so moving them into The Happy Lantern was a simple feat.

They navigated the noisy interior, where tables filled with laughing families and a quartet of musicians kept the serving maids and cooks busy. Miss Adger spoke with the barkeep to retrieve two of their keys. With four rooms for their party of seventeen, the sleeping arrangements would be as cramped as the trip had been. The largest room went to the children and Miss Adger, who acted as their nanny. The youngsters were just frightened enough of the city that they minded their elders perfectly. Ravian and the other girls took another room for themselves. Koragi was meant to join them, but she set her few belongings inside the nursery instead and looked hopefully at Miss Adger. The woman smiled warmly and welcomed her to leave her things.

“You will want to head to the Commons Hall with Gerian,” Miss Adger noted. Her voice was motherly and kind. “Do not linger here. Go enjoy yourself, Koragi.”

The seamstress quietly thanked her before slipping into the hall. She waited some time for Ravian, Gilly, and Jori to step out of the second room, but said nothing to them and simply fell in step behind them when they glided by without so much as a nod in her direction. It was better they kept together as a group, regardless of the cold distance between them socially.

Outside, Gerian Mere directed two militia men toward the markets. Tebanis stood with a small map next to the injured militia soldier who had shared wagon space with Koragi, presumably deciding where to have the soldier’s injury examined. The fourth militia soldier broke off from the others to join Gerian, along with the driver of the second cart. A year or two older than her, Koragi knew them well enough, but she had never spent any real time around them. Nevertheless, she gave them an encouraging smile when she noticed their nervousness. It was only half genuine, of course. She was suddenly as fidgety as they were about the drawing.

It seemed that Ravian was the only one among them who was perfectly content. She had her self-importance to help, though, Koragi reasoned. Ravian looked out-of-place as she walked with the rest of them. She had the fairest skin and hair amid dirty farmers and diligent laborers. She wore the finest silk, adorned with a necklace and earrings. Koragi felt so very plain next to her and she imagined Ravian enjoyed her discomfort very much.

“No need to worry yourself, dear.” Ravian’s confident voice drifted to Koragi’s ears and she turned her attention back to the group she followed. Ravian had spoken to Gilly. “I will gladly help you commission the finest dress that Elder Myra can put together for you next year—within your budget, of course. Either way, if your name is drawn next time you will be the most beautiful woman at the ball!”

“That’s so very generous of you, Ravian!” Gilly crooned.

Koragi’s stomach turned in protest. Ravian’s sweet words dripped with thinly-veiled venom that went unnoticed by the younger girls. But neither Gerian Mere nor the other young men who accompanied them spared the speakers a glance, so it was possible she had imagined the tone. Since she had come of age, Ravian had been desperate to have her name drawn for the ball. She had spent countless hours at the shrine to Soragen, lord of fortune, and last year had sought some way to cheat when her name had not been drawn.

Koragi wondered if Ravian would be unbearable if the officials did not call her name this year. The seamstress silently prayed that they would speak her name, just so the prattling woman would leave them be for a night. The celebration following the Announcement had potential, but in the past couple years, Koragi had mostly just listened to the baying of a spoiled girl.

The Commons Hall was similar to most structures in the South District, except that it was a large cube with a jagged roof. Its tall alabaster walls were adorned with silver tapestries bearing the crest of the ducal family: a bronze oak tree enclosed in a silver ring. The bronze settings in the huge double iron doors of the Commons Hall bore the same image. Duke Erran Vaisan was the third in his line, appointed by and sworn to serve King Zyrus Tarycyn of Thornin, whose royal seat was located on the continent of Aldor far to the east. Koragi had never even seen any member of the ducal family of Eiskre, but everything she had seen and heard of their rule indicated that they were fair and just in their leadership. Eiskre was surprisingly peaceful for its size—at least to an uninformed outsider looking into the unfamiliar setting. The first time she had come to the city, she had expected to be mugged or kidnapped, or to at least see one or the other take place.

The Commons Hall grounds were busy with activity. Citizens and visitors alike traveled into and out of the building like ants following a predetermined path. Koragi entered with the rest of her group and looked around at the tall tapestries that lined the grey walls inside. Huge staircases climbed either side of the foyer, winding around to disappear into the second floor. Great marble pillars stood like a line of sentinels on either side of the room, around which bureaucrats wearing the colors of the city directed groups and individual travelers. They pointed Koragi’s group to the north wing, where a line of youths awaited their turns to submit their names. Still more arrived behind them to stand in line, which was oddly calming to the young villagers. Gerian Mere spoke quietly with them as they huddled close together and edged forward whenever the line moved.

“Remember that you must not set your hopes high,” he warned. Despite his words, he offered them a warm smile that reached his cobalt eyes. “These drawings are wholly random and the odds of your name being drawn are nigh nonexistent. If you do not hear your name tonight, I urge you all to go out and enjoy the Festival nonetheless.”

Ravian returned his smile. She batted her lashes and spoke sweetly. “Your name was drawn once, Mister Mere. Your first year, if I recall. That is true fortune, no?”

“And exceptionally rare,” Gerian reiterated. He studied Ravian a moment before turning his attention to Koragi, who was the only first-timer among them.

Koragi held no notion that she would hear her name. The excitement surrounding the possibility was more than enough for her. When it was finally their turn at the table she waited until the others had finished before she scribbled the required information upon the tiny slip of paper that acted as her entry to the drawing.

She glanced up at the aged officials who looked down their sharp noses at her, as if able to determine by sight alone that she was truly of the proper age. Or perhaps they disapproved of the way her hair swept aside, messy and harboring a stray blade of grass or two. She felt immeasurably dirty under their gazes and fled from the table as soon as she could. The villagers gathered in the foyer, next to the third pillar from the door on the south wall. By now the building was packed, and they had little hope of leaving together without being scattered until after the Announcement was delivered.

A brief commotion followed the cut-off bell for the names; they had only made it by several minutes. Women older than Koragi cried out in dismay as they watched the bowl of names disappear from the front of the line, their opportunity to join in on the tension and heart-pounding agony of defeat lost before their eyes. As the grief-stricken maidens departed the northern wing of the building, the villagers from Cordak settled in for a long wait. It would be another two hours before the officials announced the names, but the front doors of the Commons Hall were still wide open and citizens and travelers yet poured inside.

Most passed the time with idle gossip. Koragi managed to strike up a conversation with an old woman with skin the color of smooth mahogany. The elderly woman fascinated her with stories of distant lands to the southwest, where the earth was dry and cracked and trees were a rarity. Koragi had never read about such a place, but the images the old woman conjured in her mind seemed so tangible. She saw the desert, felt the scorching sun that left her skin darkly tanned and her throat screaming for water. One day she would go, she decided, just to experience the world that this strange old woman cherished so. She was unsure how to get there, or even where it really was, but she would just need to find a proper map of all of Camriiole and venture out into the world to see what was there.

She liked to pretend that she would, at least.

The din of voices gradually trailed off when the great bell at the front of the foyer finally sounded. The low, reverberating chime caused excited whispers, for it marked the time for the Announcement. Ignoring the ache of tired legs and the creak of bones forced to stay in relative stillness for too many hours at once, the gathered citizens, travelers, and visitors fell into a deafening silence. Koragi’s pulse thrummed in her ears, she was so excited. It was a silly thing, but the anticipation of the drawing was like nothing she had ever experienced in Cordak.

Next to her, Ravian pushed forward a few steps to attain a better view of the northern dais, where a man in voluminous blue robes, recognizable as Eiskre’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Scillon Matrese, took a parchment from another robed official and held it up before the crowds. The ceremony was glorified in its execution, but successful in creating remarkable suspense.

“Citizens and visitors,” the Minister began. His baritone voice boomed through the building. He was an aged man with the look of a foreigner himself, his jaw square and his eyes and hair black. A long, braided beard completed his appearance of hard authority. “The Council of Six brings to you the names drawn in the inner city, plucked by the hand of none other than our Duke Vaisan! Each region receives six randomly-drawn names, three male and three female. Thus these six individuals must present themselves by dusk tomorrow to the Ministry building in the Inner District, where they will be personally greeted by the royal family.

“Neiren Core, son of Plerian and Sari Core of Eiskre.” The name resulted in a cheer that swept the eastern half of the building and the Minister waited for it to die again before continuing. His austere gaze swept over the crowd and silenced any future cheers, if not the excited whispers. “Kennin Braugh, son of Hermal and Forial Braugh of Eiskre. Malagor Gremm, son of Malagor and Juneira Gremm of Eiskre.” Koragi looked at the young men who had accompanied their group sympathetically. They were visibly disappointed, but she thought she saw relief in their eyes, as well. The Minister continued, offering no pause for the lamentations of other would-be male attendees. “Ilian Horth, daughter of Bren and Julian Horth of Eiskre. Koragi Domerie, daughter of Elder Myra Domerie of Cordak. And Vili Bartan, daughter of Minister Soracel Bartan of Eiskre!”

As soon as the Minister spoke the final word of the Announcement, the room erupted into a clamor of shouts and cheers, many of which expressed surprise at hearing a name from Cordak.

By the third pillar from the entry door on the south wall, Koragi was numb. A painful spike of adrenaline swept through her, frozen and feverish at the same time. She felt the eyes of her fellows on her. They gaped at her just as she gaped in the direction of the dais which the Minister had already vacated, leaving his aides and various guards to clear the building of those who lingered.

She heard nothing. Even when Gerian Mere took her arm and guided her to walk with them, she remained entirely unresponsive outside of the stiff movements of her legs to follow him. She especially remained unresponsive to Ravian’s outraged screech of protest.