This is the start of an ongoing fan-fic. It is my first attempt at fanfiction but I hope that you will indulge my efforts. There will be more to come.

The Hand of Maricc

Chapter 1

The women sang prayers as they beat the carpets hanging from the balconies and the children skirmished in the streets as the dust settled on hair, skin and shirt. Sey sat on the steps of the inn, watching them as they led hopeless last charges and planned futile defences until the sun began to set and they were called in by their mothers. Sey, although barely older than the tallest child there, remained on the street in the afterglow of the setting sun. He was the only child of the Tarkaan Sath, and his father held him to no curfew. Sey rubbed his dark, languid eyes and sank further into the corner of the doorway. His jet black hair plastered with dust and his dark olive skin glistening in the heat, he looked like any common Calormene boy.

'My lord, do not squat in the dust like a beggar, especially on an evening as beautiful as this. For has it not been said by the wisest of poets; that a beggar can find his way to the highest golden tower and a prince to the filthiest gutter if they but think like the other,' so spoke in a dry, thin voice a tall and sunken faced Calormene Captain, standing behind him on the threshhold of the inn.

Sey scrambled to his feet and shook the dust from his hair. 'Sorry, Morish, I was lost in thought.'

'Lost in grime, sweat and dust, more like,' grinned Morish, 'Be a little less the idle dreamer and a little more the son of a Tarkaan, my lord.'

'My father cares not how I spend my free time, Morish. Only you fuss over me.'

'Not strictly true, my lord. I can name ten high servants who tear their hair and tweak their beards at your impetuous ways, and your father remains quiet only through giving up lecturing you from exhaustion. You were ever so,' he said, gesturing at the silent, common alley.

'Speaks the captain who spends his days in his jugs,' grinned Sey, flicking his head at the bawdy interior of the inn.

Morish looked at Sey fiercely. His hand sprang forward and cuffed Sey around the ears. 'Do not speak to your elders so, young man, no matter how high you may be! You should have realised by now that I go where you go. For three hours I have sat at the high window with bow and knife ready, set to stand between sword, knife and spear lest someone attack you! Your father would not have you cooped up in the palace, all pampered and made soft by eunuchs and aunts, but would have you fight and war with your alley friends and bite and taste the dust with them! He cannot keep you sheltered, for he would make a weakling of you, but you cannot run unguarded for...' and Morish stopped and looked warily about him.

'For what?'

Morish remained silent.

'I am sorry, Morish! Truly I am! I never knew you protected me so! But you were about to speak of someone or something, will you not tell me who?'

'Not here and not now, my young lord. I keep my secrets for the ears of deep wells and your father only. And your age of innocence must remain that. Now, if you have not exhausted yourself sprawled in the dirt, I would wish you to accompany me back to the palace, my lord.'

Sey nodded acquiescence and followed the good captain through the streets winding up to the palace. As they walked, Sey thought upon what Morish had said.

'Morish? Is father in trouble?'

'That is not for me to say, my young lord, nor for you to ask. Your father tells both our persons as much as we need to know.'

Sey had to content himself with this.

The moon was out and the white walls of the town were cast in blue light. The palace sat upon a great pinnacle of rock in the centre of the city, the rock stretching up behind and to one side of it and curving up over it... the rock eroded through some freak of the scouring winds into a giant and imposing cupped hand so that the palace seemed to sit in the palm, the bent fingers about to close down and hide it from view. At the very least that is how Sey saw it, his poetic eye investing it with a mythic grandeur. He always felt a fierce pride when he gazed upon it. Lights shimmered in the ornate windows of the palace and gentle music could be heard. The city, running by the name of Maricc, was one of culture. Little known for its fighters or politicians, it dealt mainly in artisans and agriculture. It was far enough removed from Tashbaan to receive few visits from the officials of the Tisroc and the austere beauty of the surroundings had infused a mellow character upon its citizens. Very few men or women of bad tempers, greedy spirits or cruel hearts could be found in Maricc. It was the place that the slaves prayed they would be taken to, when they huddled in their pens waiting for auction. It is somewhat telling that when King Edmund and Queen Lucy made a goodwill visit a few years ago, they declared that the place was, 'the kindest and most Narnian of all the Tisroc's domains.' The Tarkaan Sath winced at the comment at the time, and begged the two fair monarchs not to repeat the compliment in Tashbaan and certainly not in front of the Tisroc. It is a wise Tarkaan who desires not to be noticed by the Tisroc.

Sey climbed the steps to the palace doors, Morish's hand upon his shoulder.

'Rest well, young lord, for the early hours shall bring you wisdom in the form of algebra and formula. For has not one of the great poets said, 'The play of a child yields rewards as rich and brief as the delight of iced sherbet melting in the noonday sun, but the pursuit of knowledge offers calm and steady joy that shall last as long as the beating of the heart.''

'So it is said,' replied Sey, somewhat sullenly, for he hated going to bed.

'Goodnight, my young lord,' added Morish, smiling. He patted Sey on the head and walked briskly back into the gardens. Sey turned and headed for bed.

More to follow! Thank you!