Ричард Кнаак - The Veiled Prophet

“Mendeln, you and the others wait here. Serenthia, let’s go meet this Master Fahin.”

The two strode past the guards, who could do nothing to reach them. The invisible barriers Uldyssian had created kept the mounted warriors trapped on opposing sides of the road.

The lead wagon had all but turned about, but the other two were still in progress. As he reached the first, with a gesture, he forced the driver to look his way.

“Which is Master Fahin’s wagon?”

“The—the middle!”

Giving him a nod of thanks, Uldyssian led Serenthia to the wagon in question.

A guard next to the driver of the second vehicle tried to throw a spear at the pair but discovered too late that it now temporarily adhered to his hand. He fell over the driver. Both men might have tumbled to the ground, but Uldyssian kept them safe. It would be impossible to enlist the merchant’s help if any of his people were injured or slain.

They came around to the back of the wagon, where a single door stood. It flew open at Uldyssian’s desire.

A shouting guard dove toward the pair.

He managed no more than a foot out of the wagon before flying backward into it again. Uldyssian sent him to the opposite wall. The guard landed softly but found himself pinned.

From the left side of the interior, a heavyset figure wearing a jeweled nose ring leaned into view. His hair had once been rich black but now had gray streaks. He was lighter of skin than Saron yet still darker than either of the two before him.

“You have me,” he proclaimed with dignity. Despite his girth and his extravagant clothing—there was enough actual gold decor on him to feed Uldyssian’s village for a year—Fahin did not strike the son of Diomedes as so self-indulgent as to be oblivious to the needs of others. However, that still did not mean that he would see the truth. His next words, though, gave some hint of hope. “Bring no more harm to those who serve me. Let them go, and I am yours.”

“No one has been harmed,” Uldyssian returned. “I am Uldyssian ul-Diomed, and by my honor I swear to their safety. We came to speak, nothing more.”

As the merchant’s brow rose in obvious disbelief, Serenthia stepped forward. Leaning into the wagon, she said, “Master Fahin, do you remember my father, Cyrus of Seram? He dealt with you much in the past.”

“Seram…Seram…I know the village, and the name Cyrus, too.” The Kehjani closed his eyes in thought. “A virtuous man, I recall that. He had many children, a blessing, I hope.” Opening his eyes, Fahin nodded. “Yes, I know Cyrus of Seram…and you are his daughter?”

“We met when I was young, Master Fahin.” Serenthia hesitated. “I remember—I remember you had the most beautiful white pony with you. She had a silky, thick mane, and the only part not white on her entire body was a little streak just above her one eye that made it look like she was thinking something—”

“Sherah,” Fahin murmured, a childlike grin spreading across his face. “Ah! I’d not thought of the little one for years!” He clapped his hands in cheerful memory of the pony. “And though you could have learned of her from someone else, I think, there is that which makes me believe you are who you say you are.” Some of the pleasure left him. “But what that means now, I do not know. I have heard stories of an Ascenian leading an army of terror across the lands—”

“No one has anything to fear from us,” Uldyssian interjected as he gently moved Serenthia aside. “No one unless they serve the evil that is the Triune or the Cathedral.”

“Indeed? I could almost believe what you speak concerning the Triune, for rumors of secret rituals recently have reached the highest levels in the capital, but nothing but good is said about the Prophet, who even preaches peace with you despite Toraja and elsewhere.”

“Preaches it while he twists the minds of others into trying to slay us. I can’t prove what I say to you, Master Fahin, but I hope that you will give me the chance to plead my case…for the sake of all of us.”

The stout merchant indicated his surroundings. “You see that you have a captive audience. I can do nothing but listen.”

Uldyssian frowned. “That isn’t what I want of you.” An idea that he had not discussed with anyone else seemed his best hope now. “Hear me, Master Fahin. Would you listen if I stood alone before you and the leaders of Kehjan? Would they accept such an arrangement? I’ll freely walk into Kehjan alone—” He cut off Serenthia, who started to protest. “And place myself under your guidance throughout it. Myself alone. Will they—will you—give me the chance to tell them the truth?”

The merchant leaned back. Uldyssian saw no subterfuge in the man’s eyes, although he reminded himself that this man made his living dealing.

“Your—people—they would have to stay two days beyond the gates,” Fahin declared. “Any closer with so many, the city would expect imminent attack.” He pointed at Cyrus’s daughter. “She could come with you, if you wish. That would be acceptable.”

“It’ll only be me.”

“I won’t let you go into the capital alone!” Serenthia blurted. “I’ll go—”

He shook his head. “You need to keep the rest under control, Serry. None of the others can manage that. They certainly won’t be comfortable around Mendeln.”

“Then take him with you! You know that he’d gladly come!”

Uldyssian had already considered that. “The mages might find him far too unsettling. I won’t risk him or anyone else. I’ll be fine.” Uldyssian eyed the merchant. “If Master Fahin says I’ll be.”

“If I take you into Kehjan, so it will be, Uldyssian.” Fahin rose, moving very smoothly for one of his bulk. “Permit me to tell those with me that we will be returning home. Captain Aztuhl will need some placating, too.”

A grateful Uldyssian bowed low. “Thank you. I apologize for disrupting your journey.”

“The trip I was undertaking was for personal matters, not much business. Do you think me so destitute that I have but three wagons? I might have been more upset if I had been forced to have twenty or more turn around, not these few.” Fahin waved off his assistance as he disembarked. Once down, the merchant glanced back inside. “Oh! My poor bodyguard?”

Uldyssian released his hold on the man. With a gasp, the guard slumped into a sitting position. He stared at Uldyssian as if the latter had two heads. That was likely to be one of the predominant expressions among the Kehjani, the son of Diomedes thought…that and, thanks to Inarius, hatred.

Captain Aztuhl proved to be an obstinate man, but in the end, he bowed to his employer’s dictates. On the other side, Uldyssian faced many protests from his own followers. No one liked the notion of him entering the capital alone, but, like the merchant, he brooked no disagreement.

It was decided that Fahin would lead the way back to Kehjan, with Uldyssian riding beside his wagon. For the journey back, the merchant chose to sit next to his driver. He did not wish to appear afraid before his people, which Uldyssian could appreciate. However, Captain Aztuhl also remained near, ever ready should the Ascenian do anything he considered bordering on threat.

It was Master Fahin who indicated at last when they were approximately two days from their destination. Saron and others reluctantly verified this, not that Uldyssian had asked. In the short time that he had come to know the merchant, he had gained much respect for the man. Good fortune had finally smiled upon the son of Diomedes; with Fahin to introduce him to the ruling powers, there was hope that they might listen, not merely react.

“The fractious nature of the mage clans’ council means that there is merit in meeting with Prince Ehmad. The young prince has sought to strengthen his position. He has gained backing from many of the guilds, and even the mages will pay attention to what he says,” Fahin had explained early on.