She was waiting for him when he finished his routine. As the crowd gave their offerings of praise and crescents, he caught intermittent sight of her, a silhouette against a mass of yellow and crimson. The Ahazu was smiling when he walked up to them, the audience at last dispersed. He had never heard that they smiled, and Zember found it unsettling. Then the girl bounded forward and forged a brighter mood.

"I’ve never seen someone juggle like you, it was so neat, and the sounds, it’s like you’re playing a glass flute at the same time!" She paused for a breath, peered into his face, and added: "Your eyes are so green!"

Zember found himself laughing, forced himself to stop, kneeled down gingerly so as not to buckle his bad leg, and stuck out his hand: "My name’s Zember."

The girl giggled, turned her head away for a moment, and answered, coyly: "I’m Miri. And this is my friend, Grinner. He’s going to win the Clash."

She said it with such confidence that Zember wanted to believe her. But he had seen Zzabul fight last year. If Grinner made it that far, the girl could be short a friend. He changed the subject: "Do you know how to juggle, Miri?"

She shook her head.

He bent closer, smiled: "Would you like to learn?"

She gave him a tight hug, almost toppling him to the cobblestone.

After several hours of practice and several nightskies of Mandalan dumplings, Miri was showing no sign of wear. Zember was exhausted; he was acutely thankful that he had not yet become a father.

It was still some time before sunsdown, and Miri announced that they were going to visit the Sarista: "I want to play with the rayks!"

And so Zember was walking with Miri and Grinner west along Cart Street when the girl suddenly let go his hand and yelled out: "Dismal!"

He recognized the name from her chatter throughout the day: one of the men who were caring for her, the same men entering Grinner into the tournament for the Clash. He decided to give them time to greet, walked slowly to join them, caught sight of Dismal, and almost stopped cold. A Marukan, broken nose, ugly welt across his cheek, gray robes – the man Telli had bragged of beating on, the day before he was found ripped apart in his home. The thought brought on a shiver; Bane or not – and from what Zember had heard of the murders, this one seemed different – it was an awful scene to have play across one’s mind.

Dismal seemed a decent man, despite the bluster that covered his Marukan gloom. Zember saw in the sunken eyes a love for the girl; he brought up the tournament.

"He fights for a tournament slot in two days." The man’s voice was uncertain, almost pained.

Zember turned to Miri, busy teasing Grinner, slapping his four hands to some rhythm in her hand: "I hope you know what you’re doing."

Dismal paused, swallowed, almost whispered: "Me, too. Me, too."

Then he reached for one of Miri’s hands, twisted her around, declared: "Time to go. Got things to do, Grinner needs to practice."

"We can see the rayks another time, right Zember?"

"Right, Miri." He watched as they walked away, was suddenly reminded again of Korinne, the way she had walked away three evenings ago, the moisture of her lips still upon his own. When he heard her voice, he thought for a moment that it was in his head.

"Zembermari. I believed that we could find you in this area." That rich voice, like a Bodor on water chimes.

It required all of his will to merely keep his jaw from dropping. He spun, controlled and casual, and registered the "we" just as he saw the man accompanying her. Middle-aged Zandir, cropped silver hair and beard contrasting copper skin, tall, slender, strong, clothes of finely tailored velvet and silkcloth – Zember was instantly, frightfully jealous.

"Korinne. Truly a pleasure to speak with you again." His voice felt hollow.

A kind smile, but not the one with which she had favored him the other day: "Zembermari Alom, allow me to present Leshemando Ummaro…" Vice chancellor to the Sultan, completed Zember in his mind.

The remainder of the conversation, and of the day, in fact, and the entirety of the day after, was merely a haze. He did remember the kiss she gave him as they parted, as she allowed Ummaro to take her arm. Fixing the indigo cape around his shoulders – the new, silken cape bought the day before, with the ivory blouse and burgundy trousers – it occurred to Zember that she made him far more nervous than did the performance he was to give at the Gala of the Clash that evening.

Zember and Korinne are PCs
Ummaro is a PC as well, at least for the moment

--Adam

Chapter One: Street Show
Chapter Two: Shalisa's Tale
Chapter Four: Such a Friendly Host
Chapter Five: Gala Finale

Next: Recovery and Recompense

Archive

Library

Museum

Links