Clayton Emery: Star of Cursrah

"A good start, djawal, but you need more training. Publican, more beer."

"I'll buy," called Gheqet, bright eyes shining in his dark face. That earned more cheers, and Star trilled merrily.

Hopping onto a bench, Rosey vaulted to the tabletop, toe-to-toe with Tafir, and grinned like a hungry panther at the soggy cadet. The tavern keeper, who'd decided the entertainment was worth a few broken mugs, handed the sergeant and Tafir two full ones.

Rosey waved his mug and said, "Remember, first one to spill his beer or get pitched off the table buys another round. Grab on!"

Wishing he were somewhere else, Tafir looked to his two friends, but Gheqet and Star craned to watch. Reluctantly Tafir put his right hand into the sergeant's iron fingers.

Before they could tussle, Tafir called above the roar, "Whoever spills his beer first loses? Then I lose!"

So saying, Tafir chucked his beer into Rosey's face. Gagging, spluttering, Rosey let go Tafir's hand to wipe his burning eyes. Immediately the cadet lunged. A sharp shove sent Rosey reeling and cursing. Packed around the table, patrons tried to leap aside as the big sergeant keeled for the wet floor.

Grabbing wildly, a huge paw snagged Star's veil and ripped it loose. Chirping, the maid hooked her voluminous sleeve across her face, then peeked to see if she'd been identified. The crowd seemed distracted by the combatants, and Star sighed with relief.

Two pairs of hooded eyes had glimpsed Star's face. An unsmiling couple, man and woman, conversed quietly without moving their lips, then skulked out the door.

Howls of protest and glee answered Tafir's bold maneuver. Still on the table, the cadet accepted a victory mug from the innkeeper. Tafir watched warily as Rosey clambered to his feet and mopped his face, then vaulted to the table again.

"Not bad, puppy. We'll make a soldier of you yet!" Rosey extended a calloused hand. "But three bouts make a winner. Grab-"

"Soldiers of the bakkal, come to attention!" bellowed a voice full of authority.

Framed in the doorway, at street level, stood a shyk, an army commander, resplendent in twin ostrich plumes, gold breastplate, and a red kilt with gold buttons. Two servants in paler uniforms trailed.

The shyk's parade ground bawl brought every soldier to rigid attention. Tafir straightened as he'd been drilled for three months to do, though he felt foolish nudging a big sergeant atop a beer-stained table. Even civilians dared not move and catch the officer's hot-eyed glare.

"Look at this hole! Look at you men!" The officer stamped down stone steps. "You're a disgrace to the bakkal, may we exist only to further his reign. You fools, get off that table. Just because you're off-duty is no excuse for slovenliness…"

Abuse was piled on the big sergeant, who was obviously known to the commander, but the severest acid rained on the army's newest cadet, Tafir.

"… fail to understand the gravity of your role. As an officer in training, you are forbidden to lay hands on a soldier lest you take advantage of your higher rank. And brawling! If I ever…" On and on, to a final bark, "That's all! The lot of you begone!"

Everyone, civilians and military alike, shuffled out the door into the early evening. White buildings still pulsed with the sun's heat, though a breeze from the eastern grasslands was sweet and cool. Sunset's golden glow cast long shadows as workers and shoppers streamed home.

Star's veil had gotten sodden and filthy, so she discarded it. Keeping her sleeve before her face, she crowded Gheqet as if whispering. The dark man told her, "You draw more attention holding your sleeve like that. You look like a vampire."

"People know my face." Star pretended to scratch her ear. Her hair was jet black, cut in square bangs and woven into cornrows above her shoulders. Her aristocratic face was a vibrant bronze, her eyebrows sharp-plucked, her eyes outlined with black kohl to look bigger. Despite her simple maid's shift, passing citizens peered at her curiously.

Gheqet was an architect's apprentice with stone-rough hands and limestone dust in his dark curls. "I should have left my work apron on," he said, brushing at beer and avocado dip. "Oh, here's Taf."

Their blond friend was fair and freckled because his parents were foreign-born mercenaries enlisted in the bakkal's army. His yellow tunic and red kilt were stained and crusted.

He sighed, "I've the brains of a bull. The commander demands my presence in his office tomorrow at dawn."

"Ooh," teased Gheqet, "that's when they hang criminals. You'll be sore as a whipped camel from wrestling. Maybe you should beg a pardon from a certain princess-"

Erupting from the milling crowd, assailants struck like lightning. Gheqet yowled as a metal-wrapped club smashed behind his knee. He fell heavily, and only an upthrust arm prevented the club from creasing his skull. As it was, his elbow was crippled by a vicious stroke.

To Star's left, a female assassin sliced downward with a hooked katar, its curved blade like a crescent moon. Star shrieked and ducked sideways, tumbling over the fallen Gheqet. The clubber grabbed for her but only tore her hem.

Tafir's short military training took control. The cadet scuffed his feet to keep his balance and jabbed his bare hand flat and hard at the woman's throat. Quick as a cobra, she bobbed her head and raked backward with her hooked blade. Tafir flinched, tangled with Star's legs, and so saved his arm from being slashed to the bone. His wild flailing to stay upright made the assassin jump back. Desperately, Tafir swayed, then raised clawed fingers to fend off the next attack.

People who'd been homeward bound stopped, stared, shrieked, and pointed. A woman called, "That's Samira Amenstar!"

Star, actually Amenstar, eldest princess of Cursrah, was the assassins' target. The club-wielder lunged over the prostrate Gheqet and snatched a fistful of Star's corn-rows. Jerked backward, Star crunched down onto her thin-padded rump and tailbone. Pain shot up her spine, making her yelp. Flicking his club, the assassin smashed Star in the stomach. Her breath whooshed out. Star sobbed, trying to pull air into empty lungs as she was dragged by the hair.

As the female assassin retreated and ran, Tafir bellowed in imitation of his instructors, "To arms! To arms! Samira Amenstar is kidnapped! Aid the princess, citizens! To arms!"

The cadet stooped to lift Gheqet, who couldn't rise on a paralyzed knee, then ran after his other friend.

Like water spilling through a weir, soldiers charged from the crowd. Stunned citizens were bulled aside by half-drunk soldiers who'd sworn a blood oath to protect the lives of their sovereigns. Rosey was first on the scene, with Eye Patch clattering behind in hobnailed sandals. More men of action raced from the street, shouting to confuse the enemy, whoever they might be. By then, some citizens had joined the rush. Housewives clattered down stone stairways with cornmeal on their hands. Masons ran with tool bags and baskets jingling. A goose boy whipped his squawking flock aside. A fat drover puffed up, ox goad ready.

The assassins didn't flee far. Man and woman had hammerlocked both Star's arms behind her back and gripped her hair to steer. Despite the searing pain, Star saw that they aimed for a sunken stairway framed by an iron grill. Hoisting her feet, she wrenched both arms to wrap both knees. Her sudden extra weight slowed the kidnappers. They cursed and almost threw her down the stairwell, but the princess jerked free one hand and latched onto the grill work. She lost a hank of cornrows as her captors jolted to a halt.

The female killer kicked Star's hand to knock it loose, then flashed the knife before her face and said, "Let go or lose your hand."

Though fascinated by the curved blade, Star glimpsed a tattoo encircling the woman's wrist like a bracelet. A row of crooked crocodile teeth revealed these were hatori, assassins of a guild that emulated the fearsome sand crocodiles of the desert. Like those camouflaged and armored reptiles, hatori thugs swam below the surface of society, popped up, bit hard, then disappeared. The hatori were an undying infestation the palace chancellor had vowed to stamp out.