Chapter 1: The Golden Hummingbird

Port Ibann, Sultanate of Ahadd, across the Southern Sea, three weeks later

Dhar Zodi prided himself on knowing the truth of many things. He knew that the many rings on the Zabari merchant’s fingers were not true gold, and that the precious gems he wore all around his person were of a lesser cut. He knew that his previous tale, the one about the Ynish noble, was a lie, and he knew that the man would return home poorer than he left it, much to the chagrin of his many wives.

“And that was as I heard it,” the Zabari finished, wiping away crumbs of barley and flecks of beer from the side of his mouth. He had a deep, mellow voice, one that inspired calm, yet his muscular build and cold, dark eyes did not inspire much trust. He wore lavish sand-robes of Aggharian make, silks of gold and green, and his onyx skin was oiled and scented. But Dhar Zodi saw through it easily. He could see that despite his calm demeanour and stories of great wealth, the man was on his last leg. His eyes darted from face to face, and his lower lip trembled whenever a card was drawn or shuffled. The Northman must have noticed it too, for he eyed the Zabari with a hungry look. They had been playing Dead Man’s Hand, and the cards had been good to Dhar. Not so much to the Zabari. He was now trying to bring attention away from the game by telling stories.

Dhar Zodi knew this.

The Northman, with his golden hair, braided long and shaved on the side, took a long swig of ale. A satisfied smirk rested on his thin lips. He was a big man too, yet not as big as the Zabari. This one did not wear his wealth, Dhar observed. The savage covered himself with old furs, even in this unbearable heat, stained and sea-worn. On his hands and face were designs etched onto his skin with ink. A great serpent coiled down his left arm, devouring the sun on the back of his hand. Runes and clan markings covered his face and neck, and on his hairy chest there appeared a great wolf under a twisted, bare tree.

“Five and sevens,” the Northman said in his gruff voice, laying down two cards and picking up the die.

Dhar Zodi knew many things, yet he had been surprised by the savage’s ability to speak the Barii tongue of the desert kingdoms, and had been guarding himself from the man all evening. He’d decided that he disliked the Northman, as he smelled of goat and seemed much smarter than he looked. Dhar did not like people who were smarter than they looked.

He took a sip from his cup and watched as the savage threw the die. The Zabari also observed with a keen nervousness, his lip trembling every time the die seemed to stop. Beads of sweat ran down his brow, and his charming smile was strained. The die finally fell on sevens and twos, and the Zabari gave a small sigh of relief, yet the Northman seemed unperturbed. He picked up his cards and shuffled them back into his deck, then dropped his bet of five gold coins into the pot.

Dhar picked up his cards, his mind wandering. He had won enough so that if he dealt himself out he would walk away with a fat purse, yet he was bored. His ship would not sail until the morrow, and there was nothing else to do in the city since the blockade had been put in place. He stuffed some dates down his gullet and massaged the heft of his enormous stomach.

“Sixes and fives,” he said, putting down his cards on the table and throwing the die, then turned to his companions and asked, “So what will you fine men do, once we’re allowed to leave this wretched place?”

He smacked his lips as the die fell on twos and ones and covered his mouth as he belched, putting his cards back into his deck and shuffled them. He lazily dropped five gold coins in the pot.

“Back to Great Zabar for me, I’m afraid. I have nothing left to sell, and my wives must miss my fiery touch. You know what I mean, eh!” the Zabari laughed, nudging the Northman, who gave him an irritated look.

“I be headin’ down the Dead Coast, to meet me brother off Reaver’s Point. We ’ave some business there,” the Northman grunted.

“With whom? Pirates?” Dhar asked casually.

The Zabari gave a nervous chuckle as Dhar and the Northman exchanged knowing looks.

“Slavers,” the Northman grunted.

An uneasy silence followed, until the Zabari broke it.

“Not in a hurry to get back to the wife, my friend?” he asked good-naturedly.

“Hopefully she’s dead by now. Or ran off with someone, like as not.” The Northman shrugged a solid shoulder, and took another long swig of his ale.

Dhar knew the man was lying. He also knew the truth of where he was going and what he would do there.

“You will continue your journey, even after what happened?” Dhar asked.

“What, this?” the Northman gestured towards the rest of the inn, filled with angry merchants who had been denied leave of the city for over a fortnight.

“Tis of no concern, they say the blockade will be over on the morrow.” The Northman’s blue eyes flashed with anticipation. “But I admit, I’ll be glad to put this cursed city behind me.”

Dhar nodded. He knew he had to play this carefully. It was why he had invited the Zabari after all. Distraction was key to success.

“And all these guards, poking their noses into people’s affairs…” Dhar complained.

“They confiscated all of my wine, would you believe it?” the Zabari whined, “they even said I should go fill out a requisition order. That they would bring me back my wares once the blockade is over. Bah!”

The Northman rolled his eyes. “Are you gonna play or not?” he cut in.

The Zabari nodded, sullen.

“Threes and eights,” he said, putting down his cards and rolling the die.

“Drah lah!” the man cursed, as the die fell on sixes and ones. He rummaged in his depleted sack of coin, and dropped a few silver and bronze pieces on the table.

“The One Above does not look kindly on me this day,” he muttered.

“I thought gambling was a sin for you people.” The Northman chuckled, eyeing the great pile of coins on the table with an avaricious glint.

“Only on holy days and during the sabbath,” Dhar answered, giving his best inviting smile.

He turned to the Zabari and said, “Just bribe the captain of the port guard next time. They will leave you be, it is known.”

The Northman nodded his agreement.

“I have already lost too much coin over this cursed blockade.” The Zabari gave them a morose look. “May The One bring illness and despair to those damned mages.”

“I ’eard they did the same in all the other ports from ’ere to Sagaad,” the Northman grunted.

“Do none know why?” Dhar asked.

He knew the answer of course, but he wished to keep the conversation going.

“They search for a girl, I heard,” the Zabari said eagerly, “a princess from Eldland.”

“That’s old news,” the Northman said with a curl of his lip.

“I also heard of that, the lost heir of some great realm in the far north…” Dhar’s words trailed off into a question directed at the savage.

“Aye,” the man explained, “she was set to marry some princeling from the Twin Kingdoms, they even sent an army of knights to escort her south, or so I heard.”

“And?” Dhar said, curious.

“They vanished,” the man replied with a thin smile, “ambushed most like, dangerous roads those.”

“Indeed, and I hear your people are to blame for that.”

“Ha! We raid there to be sure…” he conceded.

“I hear your new king wants more than to just raid, he means to conquer.” Dhar’s eyes flashed.

“The Wolf has great dreams for our people,” the Northman replied with reverence in his voice.

“If the girl married a prince of the blood of the phoenix…”

“Oh, come now, man!” the Zabari interjected, “surely you do not believe in those fishwife’s tales. Kings who cannot be defeated in battle? Nonsense!”

Dhar frowned; the man was getting on his nerves.

“My people know it all too well,” the Northman said bitterly, “those are no mere legends, the kings of the south hold the power of gods in their veins. We have waged countless wars on their realm. Believe me when I say, the phoenix cannot be defeated.”

The Zabari lowered his gaze before the blaze alight in the Northman’s blue eyes.

“Anyways, it’s not about the girl, she’s most likely rotting in some ditch somewhere in the Middle Kingdoms. The blockade is about the great storm that hit Alstar. So powerful, half the mage’s tower crumbled into the sea. Hundreds died.”

“And the world weeps their passing,” Dhar said drily.

The Northman raised his mug of ale with a small, cruel laugh.

“To dead mages. May the sharks never tire of the putrid taste of their flesh.”

Dhar and the Zabari raised their own cups and they all drank.

“I heard a different rumour,” Dhar said, as he put down his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I heard something was stolen from the mage’s vaults. That is why they come to every port from Gitya to Terramar.”

“Well, if that be true,” the Northman said, “I pity the poor fool who dared steal from them. They will not bestow upon ’em a swift end.”

“Or an easy one,” the Zabari agreed.

“We heard they search for someone.”

The words came from a pair of fellow Aggharian merchants sitting at a table nearby. Dhar smiled broadly, happy to meet his fellow countrymen, and invited them to join their tables. The Aggharians were dressed in the long-flowing desert robes of their people. Their cloth was of rich sapphire and emerald thread, their turbans fitted with magnificent, jewel-coloured plumes.

The one who had spoken, who had a crooked nose and a turban of iridescent orange silk, continued.

“We arrived in the harbour not a day before the blockade was set. As we made port we met a vessel out of Belasar carrying two holy knights from the west. They accompanied us here. The knights did not say much, yet my brother here peeked in their cabin one night while they dined.”

The brother continued the story.

“It was happenstance to be sure. I never meant to pry. I just happened to find myself in their rooms. Of course I had to take a look, I am merely a man made in the image of god after all, not a saint. There were many reports on their table, letters from the high pontiff himself and from the Archmage of Alstar. They spoke of someone, a thief who had escaped across the sea. Bearing a powerful weapon.”

“Pigshit,” the Northman spat, his drunkenness suddenly evident. “Me mate sailed by Alstar two days after it occurred. He said you could see the smoke rising from the island from leagues away.”

“We all know mages meddle with powers best left alone,” the Zabari added. “They surely blew up their own tower and are now blaming it on someone else, so the temple does not shut them down for good.”

“Still if this is so, whoever stole from the mages came to the right place,” the first Aggharian said.

Dhar Zodi knew this to be true. Port Ibann was also known by a more unsavoury name, Smugglers Den, for it was from here that all questionable goods found their way to the city, to all harbors across the Southern Sea.

“You know, the Sultan of Bazh once paid me to bring him an elephant for his menagerie,” Dhar began, “at the time, all ivory was confiscated here in Port Ibann. Khalaf Mazaad was building that gaudy palace of his, the one up on the hill. Anyway, I knew they would confiscate my elephant as soon as the inspectors came aboard. So, what was I to do?”

An elephant!

The others listened with rapt attention. Even the Northman leaned in closer to hear the tale.

“I had just returned from the Twin Kingdoms, where I had witnessed a troupe of their mummers perform. Although the westermen are not very gifted in the arts, no offence of course…” He eyed the Northman apologetically. The man’s stony expression revealed nothing, so Dhar continued.

“These performers were lively and accomplished, and so I decided to hire them. To take them to the court of our great Sultan, as he is known to enjoy such things. These actors, they had many costumes and sets for their performance, all brilliantly decorated and crafted. One such design was of a dragon. So, before we made port, we covered the elephant with a great tarp and placed the dragon’s wings on it. When the inspectors came aboard, I simply told them I was bringing a dragon for the sultan’s pleasure. They did not even step foot on the prow. I sailed off a week later and they never even suspected I had an elephant on board.” He clipped his fingers on his nose, peg-like. “How they failed to smell his dung, I’ll never know!”

The Aggharians clapped and whistled their appreciation of Dhar’s cunning.

“Was the sultan gracious with his reward?” the Zabari asked in wonder.

“No,” Dhar said sadly. “The elephant’s great body grew desiccated in the salt air. He perished at sea.” The incident had lost him a fair bit of coin, and had cost him the friendship of the sultan.

He gestured to the innkeeper, a thin, tired man in long white robes and a moth-eaten turban.

“Let the mead and wine flow, my friend!” he commanded, as the others cheered and patted him on the back. Dhar smiled at the poor fools, thinking of how he would rob them blind.

“Is a dead elephant really enough to impress you people?” the Northman scoffed as they drank.

“Why? Have you a better tale?” Dhar asked quietly.

“Not only is it better, t’is not even a tale. For it sits pretty in the barracks by the lighthouse.”

“In the barracks?” the Zabari parroted stupidly.

“Aye, where else was I to keep a whole chestful of Sunsteel?” the Northman asked with a leering smile. A gasp went up around the table. Dhar closed his eyes and gave thanks to the One Above for the foolishness of men.

“Where on god’s earth did you come upon Sunsteel?” asked one.

“And a chestful at that! It would be worth more than this entire city…” another wondered.

The Northman smiled, but kept silent despite the others’ insistence that he tell his tale. Dhar did not care; he already knew about the dwarven mining escort that had been attacked not two fortnights past. Not only that, but now he knew where exactly the precious cargo was hidden.

“More drinks, my friends? None of us are going anywhere until the morrow,” Dhar motioned to the innkeeper once more; this time, he gave him a wink. The innkeeper brought them more ale and beer and wine. The Zabari lost what remained of his coin and cargo, then drank himself into a stupor and eventually cried himself to sleep. The Aggharian brothers drank and sang and quarrelled so much, Dhar began to worry they would keep it up all night, yet at last they staggered off back to their rooms.

That left Dhar alone with the Northman, just as he had planned. Even though he had been drinking all day with them, he seemed ready to drink all night too. Cheap wines, imported liquors, strong spirits, rivers of ale and mead and beer. The man seemed capable of drinking a fish under a table. After his third bottle of clear spirits, he eventually rested his head on the table and began to snore peacefully. Dhar sighed in relief and put down the cup of water he had been drinking all night. Fools the lot of them, but Dhar Zodi knew the truth of things. He walked over to the Northman and gently rummaged through his pockets, finding a key and some loose coins. He had been waiting for this moment, and for good measure pricked the man’s neck gently with his needle. The stab was so light that it did not even draw blood, but the manticore venom would do the rest. When morning came and the man did not wake, anyone who cared to consider the question would think he drank himself to death.

With that, Dhar strode out of the tavern.

The palm trees that lined the cobbled, winding streets of Port Ibann seemed weighed down by the heat as Dhar Zodi made his way past steamy baths, beautiful mithiqs with tiled walls and slim towers throwing long shadows over their golden domes. Night markets with a thousand colourful lamps and stands selling pink and blue silks, orange spices and alluring, exotic foods were beginning to close for the night. He gave a small laugh and clapped his hands in excitement. He found himself in an undoubtedly good mood. Now all he needed to do was give the key to his loyal Ishmaahil. He would take care of the rest. How the quartermaster knew all the thieves and whores and thugs in every port was still a mystery to Dhar, yet he did not mind as long as this knowledge benefited him.

At a small square he purchased a cream tart from a passing vendor. He could never resist them, especially when the cream was singed on the top, just the way his mother used to make them. He sat his tired legs by a small fountain and looked out onto the square. The midnight moons swam high above his head in a sea of stars, and only a few guards and street preachers still remained about. Dhar relished the feeling of cities at night, when the bustle and noise of the day fell asleep.

“Halt! Have you a permit to be out so late?” A pair of guards in pointy steel caps and golden chainmail wrapped in light blue silks marched up to Dhar.

“By order of Khalaf Udam, none are allowed on the city streets after midnight without the express permission of the Captain of the Guard.”

Dhar gave them an annoyed look. They should know better. Not only was the cut of his robes so fine that even peasant simpletons like these should be able to tell the difference, the great red ruby on his turban marked him as one of the Mamuud, one of highest standing in the Sultanate.

“I am tired, go bother someone else.” Dhar waved them away.

“This fat swine thinks he can speak to us in this manner?” one of the guards flared up.

“It will be a night in the cells for you, fool,” the other warned.

Dhar was not in the mood to argue with them, but his pride had been hurt. He despised those beneath him who made fun of his weight, and even more when his betters did likewise. He was thinking of a pithy reply to put the buffoons in their place when he noticed something behind them. A girl, not of these lands, for she had pale skin and golden hair like the Northman. She wore tattered, sea-stained rags, which at some point might have been a dress. The girl moved towards them, her silent, filthy feet making barely a whisper. As she approached the guards from behind, the girl eyed Dhar with a mixture of fear and apprehension as she slowly, gently, reached behind one of the men’s belts and unfastened his coin purse, then doing the same to the other before scampering off into the night. Throughout the whole operation, Dhar remained silent. After the girl had disappeared into a dark alleyway, Dhar got up and patted the guards on the shoulder, who were taken aback by his sudden change in demeanour.

“I pray to The One Above that you two are never put in charge of anything other than harassing people on the street, for you would be terrible at guarding anything else, eh,” he taunted with a chuckle.

One of the guards tried to strike him, but the other seized his hand, perhaps at last noticing the ruby in Dhar’s turban. They both apologized and walked quickly away, and Dhar laughed to himself. They had come with the intention of extorting him and had now lost all their coin instead. How amusing life could be.

The docks of Port Ibann were full to bursting. Ships from all around the Aghabbi coast and even as far as the west had been ordered to dock and not leave until the mages were done with their business. Goods were rotting in the heat, and listless sailors were milling about with nothing to do. But at night, all one could hear was the creaking of the ships and the soft lapping of seawater against wood and stone. Dhar found his ship easily enough. The Golden Hummingbird was a two-masted, three-decked beauty built of spruce and oak, strong as a bull and fast as a hawk. Fahal, one of his guards, sat napping by the gangway, and Dhar waddled over to give him a soft kick when he noticed a movement out the corner of his eye. In a flash he turned around, nimble on his feet despite his ever-increasing bulk. The same golden-haired, raggedy girl stood between two barrels of Valentian wine.

“Stealing from the guard is one thing, girl. Stealing form me is quite another.” Dhar said softly.

“I wasn’t stealing,” the girl replied, her look of a startled doe turning to one of offence.

“From me, or from them?”

“From none of you,” she said sharply, holding up the coin purse she had taken off the guards. “This was mine. They took it. Said begging was a crime.”

“And what is one such as yourself doing so far from home?” Dhar said, unable to stop himself smiling at her defiant tone and proud bearing. “The west is a long way across the sea, little girl.”

“None of your business, that’s what,” she said, giving him a look full of mistrust, “and I’m no little girl.”

“Very well then, young one,” Dhar said, even more amused, “what is it you want from me? I imagine you followed me for a reason?”

The girl seemed taken aback by this. Dhar had noticed her since he had left the small square. She had kept her distance, but not quite expertly enough.

He looked her over. Her pale face was pink and sunburnt, with skin flaking off her nose and forehead. Her golden hair was as matted and tangled and dirty as the rags she wore, but her eyes… They were black, too black. So dark they were uncomfortable to look at, yet alive and curious and mistrusting.

The girl nodded towards The Golden Hummingbird.

“My ship?” Dhar asked.

“I want to go… home…” The word caught in her throat, the defiance and pride had gone out of her. All of a sudden, she seemed small, a girl of nine or ten years at most. Tired, alone, afraid. “Home,” she repeated and the word tugged at Dhar’s heartstrings.

“Where is home?” he asked softly.

“The Middle Kingdoms,” the girl said.

Dhar thought for a long moment.

“I cannot take you further than Terramar…”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” The girl seemed so relieved, which was why his next words made Dhar cringe a little in shame.

“… but it will cost you. What can you pay with?”

In one swift movement, the girl handed him the guard’s coin purse. Dhar rummaged through it, finding mostly copper and bronze, a few silver pieces and one gold. He shook his head and gave her a sorry look.

“There is… one more thing,” the girl said quietly.

From a pocket somewhere in her rags she produced a box. Dhar took it from her and looked it over. It was made of polished stone, white as bone. It bore no adornments or devices, and was no bigger than the palm of his hand. There was no lock or lid to it, and when he tried to open it he found there was no way. He brought it up to his ear and rattled it, but no sound came from within. Yet there was something there. He knew it. And he knew he wanted it. The girl was staring at the box with a pained look. Dhar did not know if she feared he would reject it or take it.

“We sail west at dawn.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: The Hanging