Author's Note: I've wanted to write a story about Miache and Zefrem for a very long time, and I'm finally doing it, albeit not in the original form I intended (as in a gigantic epic story). This will be just a one-shot outlining the basic story of Miache and Zefrem in ten short scenes. Constructive criticism and feedback are always welcome, particularly since it's been quite a while since I wrote a Tamora Pierce story. Perhaps, if this is well-received, I might consider writing more stories centered on the Jewel. And before I forget, Tamora Pierce owns everything. This is all just for fun.
The Thief, the Mercenary, and the Jewel
1.When they first saw her floating down the river they thought she was some ancient immortal released from the Divine Realms. She could hardly be human. Nothing alive could be floating along so peacefully in the rapid-filled river, missing every rock or log in its path. There wasn't a speck of mud or a wound to mar the pale skin and her hair streamed out behind her in tangle-free waves.
Zefrem insisted that no one could possibly survive in the river in the middle of winter and that she was certainly dead.
The men insisted she wasn't and pulled her out of the water, wanting a closer look at the mysterious creature that had floated their way. They gathered around the body once they had dragged it to the edge of the riverbank, unwilling to touch it but unable to look away.
Zefrem turned his face in disgust and set about preparing the camp for the night. With food scarce and not a job to be had, his hands were full just trying to keep his men fed and warm without dealing with a dead body, no matter how attractive it had looked to men starved for female company.
It was only when he heard a sputtering cough and the astonished murmurs of his men that he stalked over to the girl. The men parted for him silently. Now that the girl had seemingly returned from the dead, they would let Zefrem handle the situation. He would know what to do.
He knelt beside the pale stranger and hit her on the back without ceremony. A flood of brackish river water spilled from her mouth and she turned onto her side, coughing and shaking. When the last of the water had been expelled from her body she suddenly tensed, becoming aware of the situation.
Zefrem touched her shoulder to get her attention and for a brief moment he found himself ensnared by the purest blue eyes he had ever seen. Pale just like the rest of her with only a few deeper flecks at the center, they were wide and glazed with shock and fatigue.
A croak. Zefrem leaned closer to hear her words.
"You will never take it from me. Never."
It was only then that Zefrem noticed her hand clenched around—something.
He opened his mouth to ask what "it" was and then realized the girl had fainted. Letting lose a stream of curses, Zefrem scooped the girl into his arms and led her over to the closest campfire. He would wait until she woke up, let her take in the fire's warmth, give her what food he could spare, and then he would find out what "it" was, even if it took a knife at the throat to do it.
2."Are you hungry, my lady? Thirsty? I fear I only have a poor man's fare to offer you, but what I do have I give to you with all my heart." Zefrem bowed mockingly and thrust the cup and plate at the girl. She met his presence with a scathing glare but grudgingly accepted the plate. As stubborn and hard-headed as the girl had proved to be in the past few days, she wasn't a big enough fool to refuse food, even if it was just stale bread and cheese long since past its prime.
Zefrem thumped to the ground next to her and applied himself diligently to his own meal. He found himself mentally counting the days before they reached Tyra. The road from Galla down through Tusaine had been filled with obstacles, from the freezing weather to the bandits picking off their men one by one to the wolves prowling the hills by day and dragging their horses away by night. The men were tattered and threadbare, close to starving and even closer to mutiny. The only thing that kept them together was the basic fact that Zefrem was the best commander a mercenary band would ever find. That, and he'd never let them starve before.
He'd picked up rumors of instability in Tyra and meant to profit off of their insecurity in whatever way he could. Another two weeks' ride and they would be there. They might have made it in a week without the girl. Miache.
She was tearing hungrily into the bread, dipping it into her water to soften it and then tearing great chunks off with her teeth. She ate as quickly as any of the men, focused on the task at hand and ignoring everything around her.
Miache. Her name was about all Zefrem had learned about the strange girl in the week she'd been with them. She hadn't even told him but let it slip to one of the men she'd grown friendly with while playing dice. Of course, friendly was a relative term; friendly meant that she wouldn't draw her knife and threaten to remove one's manhood if he tried to talk to her. To Zefrem she refused to speak at all, but it was different from her normal indifference. He was aware that she watched him through lowered eyes, following his movements around the camp. The other men she despised or tolerated as she pleased, but she didn't trust him at all.
And well she shouldn't. Zefrem knew she was hiding something and was determined to find out what it was before they reached Tyra. Whoever she was or whatever she was concealing from him, she was willing to die for it. He couldn't afford to enter Tyra with such risky baggage, and he certainly wouldn't just let her go, no matter how many times she tried to sneak out of camp.
For this enforced captivity, Miache resented him above the rest. Her body practically thrummed with ill-concealed hatred whenever he was around her. Naturally, he spent as much time as he could spare with her, holding one-sided conversations about nothing or doing his best to bate her. Eventually she would let something slip; a name, a place, an event. When she did, he would be ready.
Zefrem was a patient man.
3.The camp was silent when Zefrem opened his eyes and carefully slipped out of his bedroll and pulled on his boots. The air was hard and cold. He supposed he should be thankful that it hadn't snowed and blocked up the path leading into Tyra, but the dry air and biting wind was starting to rub all extremities raw. Not for the first time, Zefrem wondered why he had always been unable to live a sedentary, normal life. It would be so easy to abandon the men and take his emergency stash of money and settle down somewhere. Too easy.
As long as he had a chance of winning Zefrem never backed away from a challenge, and at the moment he was hardly beaten. Bruised, perhaps, but not yet beaten.
He stood carefully, tall frame towering over the sleeping men snoring quietly in the night air. Somewhere in the distance he could make out the shadowy figures of the guards, but in the heart of the camp all was still.
He crept silently through the camp and paused briefly when he spotted his target. Miache always set up her tent well away from the others, on the very fringes of the camp. Every night she tried to sneak away, but the guards always caught her. They knew if they let her slip away between their fingers Zefrem would summarily beat them and then throw them out of the band. He didn't tolerate mistakes.
As he moved closer, he could see from the way she was lying that she was protecting something. Her body was carefully curved around her hand, which he suspected would be clenching whatever she was trying so desperately to hide from him.
He knelt soundlessly and took out a feather that he brushed gently on her ear. Miache signed and twitched in her sleep, trying to escape the insistent sensation. Then it happened. She rolled over and swatted at the feather with the hand she had been cradling.
Zefrem crept around her sleeping form and then froze. The "it" she had been so desperate to hide was a purple gem the size of a walnut, somehow glittering even in the dead of night. It was easily the most expensive jewel he'd ever seen, probably worth a king's ransom. He didn't care how she had gotten it or where it came from. He just knew that he had to have it. This gem would provide for the band for years. The men could take their share and retire to live decent lives or continue adventuring as they pleased. All Zefrem knew was that their troubles were finally, at least for a time, over. The gem twinkled alluringly, calling for him to pick it up.
A bare inch before his fingers closed around it a hand grasped his arm and wrenched it away. A second blow and he was knocked away from the gem completely and found Miache on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground and staring fiercely down at him.
"I told you that first night," she whispered, "that you would never take it from me. I'm just surprised it took you this long to try."
Zefrem couldn't begin to understand why such a slight girl could have him pinned completely. She was thin and light and he should have been able to throw her halfway across the camp, but somehow he was unable to move.
"I thought I'd give you time to come clean," Zefrem finally said, keeping his voice low and bored. "After all, I did save your life and keep you warm and fed in the middle of winter. A little gratitude certainly wouldn't go amiss."
"Gratitude?" she snarled, "that's the last thing you deserve. If those incompetents hadn't pulled me out of the water when they did, I'd have made a clean getaway. Be halfway back to Carthak by now." Listening to her voice clearly for the first time, Zefrem realized that her Common accent was Scanran, and probably well-bred. That, of course, begged the question—why was she trying to get to Carthak? Or perhaps…get back? The Carthaki were well known for capturing young people, noble or common, for their slave markets. Miache had every sign of being an escaped slave.
"You were planning on swimming across, were you? No ships make the crossing to Carthak in the middle of winter. You would've kept running and eventually been caught by whoever's chasing you. Now, thief as skilled as yourself, I imagine you could have escaped from my grip long ago if you were really trying. That makes me think you haven't been tryin' as you might. You need us to protect you, but the question is, from who? Maybe from the master you stole that gem from," he suggested.
Zefrem was operating on guesswork and pure nerve, but he had obviously been correct about some of it. Miache glared and her grip on his arms tightened. "You don't know anything. You don't know who I am, what I went through to get that thing, and what I'm going to use it for."
He was careful not to show any curiosity, but his attention was grabbed by the way she said "use," as if the gem was something other than a very profitable piece of frippery.
"All right love, it seems we've come to an impasse then. You need me to protect you, and I need that gem to pay my men. Whatever shall we do?"
"I don't need you to protect me," Miache insisted. "We don't need anyone's help." We? Surely the girl hadn't been alone so long as to start thinking of the gem as a sentient being.
"Then go ahead and leave," Zefrem said, gambling all of his chips at once. "Go on. Get up and go. I won't try to pursue you." When she didn't move, Zefrem laughed mockingly. "That's what I thought. Hate it all you want, but you need us more than we need you."
Miache fumed at his words and it was then that she let her attention slip. Zefrem used his legs and muscled torso to flip them over. Now Miache lay on the ground, hair spilling out in a silvery halo around her head, writhing in his grasp like a slippery fish.
"Now listen here, girl," Zefrem grunted. It was taking all his energy to contain the furious Miache. "I'll let you keep riding with us, protect you from all the nasties that might come to get you, but when we reach Tyra we're selling that jewel. You'll get your fair share, as you're the one that nicked it, but I expect my men to be fairly compensated." Miache responded with a veritable stream of cursing, some in Scanran and some in Carthaki.
Zefrem tightened his grip on the struggling girl and grinned. "You better watch it. Keep moving like that and you'll give a man the wrong impression." Taking advantage of the shocked expression on Miache's face, he bent his head and pressed his lips directly to hers, inhaling the feminine scent and curling his hands in her hair. The embrace lasted only for a tantalizing moment before Miache pushed him off and he found a knife pressed to his throat.
"Never try that again," she growled.
Zefrem just grinned and melted back into the shadows, extremely pleased with the way their little encounter had gone.
4.The attack came suddenly and without warning, as they most often do, three days outside Tyra. Zefrem's first thought was "bandits" but it quickly became clear that the attackers weren't just petty thieves. They were well-armed, well-armored, well-trained, and on a mission.
"Get the girl and forget all the others," their leader shouted, narrowed eyes searching the chaotic mass of the mercenaries struggling to find arms and his own men cutting them down without mercy.
Miache had been riding next to Zefrem when the first arrow struck home, and for the first time Zefrem could see fear in her eyes. Naked, unadulterated fear.
"Stay out of this!" he shouted at her and spurred his horse forward to engage the nearest assailant. It was clear that the mercenary band was woefully outnumbered. They were brave and fierce fighters, but even they could do nothing against superior numbers and a better equipped enemy. Zefrem's vision narrowed to the men in front of him. He knew in the vaguest way that they were losing badly, but all he could focus on was thrust, parry, duck, slash. Nothing mattered but the feel of steel against shield and the coppery smell of blood staining the dead grass.
"Zefrem!" He narrowly avoided an axe swipe to the head when he heard Miache's voice. He grimly gutted the man in front of him and turned to see that the girl's horse had been shot out from under her and five men were approaching where she had fallen.
Zefrem urged his horse forward and cut down the nearest two, then reached for her outstretched hand and slung her up off the ground and onto the back of his horse.
He never contemplated the fact that gravity and mechanics should have made such a rescue impossible. He never thought about the fact that his horse, exhausted from the fight, should never have been able to pull away from their pursuers carrying a double burden. He didn't even realize that Miache had used his name for the first time.
He simply kept on riding.
5."I was with those men for fifteen years," Zefrem said slowly, staring into the night sky. "I joined the Bears when I was just a boy. Sixteen. Didn't know anything about fighting or living rough or anything—just didn't want to be a merchant like my drunkard of a father. They should've sent me home crying for my mother but Zarryn, he was the old leader of the band, and he saw something in me, some sort of potential. Took me under his wing, kept an eye on me. Taught me everything he knew. When he finally kicked it a few years back, there were others that had been around longer and knew more, but the men chose me, because he'd chosen me. Fifteen years. Ouch!"
Zefrem's reminiscent was interrupted by Miache's less than gentle binding of his arm. He'd suffered a sword slice from elbow to shoulder and other lesser nicks and cuts over portions of his body. Without asking, Miache had quietly been binding his wounds, letting him talk.
"There, that should do it," she pronounced as she tied that last knot. "It's not perfect, but it should last until we can get you in to see a real healer. For such a big boy, you certainly complained enough about getting a few wounds bound up."
"Were you even listening?" Zefrem demanded, turning angrily on Miache. "I just lost not only my entire livelihood but my family. Everything I've helped build for the last fifteen years is dust, and all I have to show for it in an ungrateful wench and a bad sword arm."
"At least you knew your family growing up and had your band for so long. Who did I ever have? Got stolen away when I was just a little lass, was a slave for close to ten years. Escaped and spent my time working the Carthaki docks as a thief because I had to eat. Don't act like I don't know misery."
Silence descended between the two. They'd picked a place to stop well away from the road leading into the city. They hadn't heard signs of pursuit yet, but the night was only half over. They didn't dare light a fire and so they were sitting close together, not quite touching, within the confines of the rudimentary heating and protective circle Miache had created. She may have been the source of all his troubles, but at the moment Zefrem was pathetically glad that she had a touch of the Gift, otherwise they'd be frozen come morning.
He couldn't put it off any longer. Zefrem grabbed Miache's chin and forced her to look directly at him. "I'm going to make a suggestion. Unless you want to enjoy even more misery, then you'd better tell me where you got that rock of yours and why they want it back so badly."
He assumed it would take more convincing than that, but for once Miache spoke quickly and quietly.
Gallan assassins, trying to steal the throne from under their king.
A deal struck in the dark recesses of a Carthaki alley.
A long boat ride and a longer trip to the treasure vault of the Gallan royal family.
A double-cross of the double-crossers and desperate flight to the Drell.
The Dominion Jewel. Legend come to life right in front of Zefrem's eyes. It sat between them now, nestled in Miache's palm, internal light flickering, almost seeming to wink at them.
"What were you planning on doing with it?" he finally asked.
He wasn't really expecting Miache to be honest with him and was startled when she answered. "I was going to find the men who sold me into slavery and kill them, and then I was going to find my family again. I figured the jewel can do so much, it ought to be able to help me. It wouldn't have let me steal it if it didn't want me to have it," she insisted upon Zefrem's skeptical reaction. Still, the jewel's legendary abilities would explain why Miache had survived her suicidal flight into the Drell River.
"Well, for now let's hope it can just keep us hidden and get us into Tyra without being caught."
Zefrem hunkered down to the ground, shivering violently. They'd had no time to grab their packs and supplies, which meant that the only thing keeping him from the frozen ground were the clothes on his back. Miache's heating spell could only do so much, even with the jewel powering her.
He thought Miache had long since fallen asleep when he heard a rustling. Before he could react Miache had maneuvered so that she was pinning him down to the ground in an exact replica of their positions the first night he'd kissed her.
"Better be careful, love, or you'll give a man the wrong idea," he said throatily.
Miache simply looked at him. She seemed small and delicate and very serious with her pale hair lit up by the light of the moon. She put one cold hand against his cheek, smooth against the dark growth of stubble on his jaw. Then she said solemnly, "I think we're finally getting the right idea." Then she kissed him.
Zefrem didn't mind the cold that night.
6. They started seeing bodies when they were half a day's ride outside the city. Miache's arms tightened around Zefrem's stomach when they come upon the first group of bodies. The people hadn't died from blood and steel but from plain hunger. Everywhere they found dead and dying people, thin as sticks. Those still alive hardly had the energy to look up at the sound of a horse's hooves. Those that did all had blank stares and a dead look in their eyes, as if they'd already passed out of this world.
Zefrem could feel Miache humming with rage as they passed body after body on the road to the city. He could see smoke in the distance and had a feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. In a place full of pirates and the worst of thieves, an even greater menace was bringing the city to its knees.
"Would you cut that out," Zefrem finally snapped when Miache's anger jostled him in the saddle.
"It's not me," Miache snarled right back. "It's this gods-cursed jewel. It's been doing that ever since we saw the first body. It doesn't like to see people dying."
Zefrem didn't bother correcting Miache's tendency to attribute human characteristics to the jewel. They were coming up to the gate, which had been left without a guard. Zefrem had a feeling that the people able to flee had left weeks ago and those still hanging around had nowhere else to go.
"Come on," he said, urging the horse through the open gate. As he'd suspected, the streets were nearly empty, but he could hear shouts and see smoke rising from the direction of the palace and the docks.
They were halfway to the palace when seemingly out of nowhere a youth of about fourteen appeared in front of them. He had delicate features and fair blond hair, and was wearing elegant clothes more likely to be used at a court function than for wandering the streets.
"You're finally here," the boy said dreamily, gazing up at them but never focusing on their features. "They said you would come and save us, and now you have. You'd best come on to the palace now, you won't be doing any good standing here." He turned and started walking up the street, swaying slightly to and fro.
"Who are you?" Zefrem demanded, spurring the horse to catch up to the boy. "What's going on here?"
Without pausing in his gate the boy said sweetly, "I'm Raynson." He paused and then added, "I'm also the duke. This is my city, but the Carthaki are trying to take it away." He smiled again, innocent and trusting. "You're going to stop them for me. And look, here we are." The boy had led them to the very gates of the palace.
7. Zefrem faced the motley assortment of men in front of him with cold sweat trickling down his back and a knot in his stomach. They were pick-pockets and gamblers, pirates and thieves, old men and young boys; hardly an army to fight off the combined might of the Carthaki navy. The gigantic war barges had held the city at knife's point for weeks, starving them slowly into submission and pounding the shoreline defenses with their catapults. Their ruler was an insane invalid child, most of the city's soldiers and guards were dead or fled, and the people were entirely without hope.
What could he possibly say to rally them? What could he possibly do to rectify the situation? He was a brilliant tactician, but the task seemed impossible with the available resources and the enemy facing them. How could he possibly turn the Carthaki tide?
Miache stepped up on the platform next to him and reached for his hand. Instead of flesh meeting flesh, he felt a cold lump.
For the first time, the power of the jewel rushed into his body, banishing the knots and the sweat and straightening his back. As if it had always existed in his mind, he knew exactly what they were going to do.
"People of Tyra!" he shouted, voice somehow projecting over the crowd of hundreds gathered in the palace courtyard. They'd opened it up to everyone, regardless of wealth or station, and what was left of the city's populace had responded. "Your nobles have fled. Your duke is locked up in his room and refuses to open the door. Your children are starving and your livelihoods are being destroyed. You have nothing left, my friends. Nothing except yourselves.
"I don't bring you an army. I don't bring weapons, or supplies, or clothing. But I do bring two things. I bring you hope, and much more importantly, I bring you a plan."
As he stood in front of the crowd of people, the Dominion Jewel now warm and pulsing in his hand, Zefrem outlined the strategy to free Tyra.
8."Catapults…now! Archers, ready and…fire!"
Smoke from the burning Carthaki barges obscured the horizon and stung Zefrem's eyes. He angrily wiped them with his sleeve before looking to see how the recent barrage from the defense had affected the enemy fleet. He grinned when he saw that two new fires had broken out on the targeted ship. His happiness was short-lived, however, when one of the undamaged ships sent a return boulder flying into the wall a scant thirty feet away from where Zefrem was standing, scattering the hapless defenders and smashing a huge chunk out of the thick structure.
"Ready catapuls, and…fire! Come on, lads, keep it up!" Zefrem continued in his march across the walls, stopping every once in a while to encourage the men working the catapults and the archers and survey the position of the remaining Carthaki ships. Somehow, despite the noise of the fight and the screams of the wounded and dying, every man on the walls was able to hear Zefrem's voice; the jewel projected it far above the cacophony. Every moment it seemed like new men climbed up the steps and joined the battle, rushing to Zefrem for an assignment and instructions. He didn't know where these new men were coming from but accepted them readily. They needed every man they could get.
The battle had been raging for hours and the catapults had sunk at least five barges but there were fifteen still floating in the harbor, flags flapping defiantly in the breeze.
They were losing. No matter how many times Zefrem was able to turn back the barges when they got close enough to shore to shoot arrows and unload men to the docks, he wouldn't be able to keep it up forever. There were too few defenders and far too many Carthaki to be pushed back forever. Even though flaming arrows and grappling hooks that seemed as if they were in a direct line for him mysteriously turned aside, the jewel couldn't keep him alive forever. He would get hit and the defenses would crumble. They just weren't strong enough.
"Look! Look, out in the water!"
A cry went up across the walls and Zefrem blinked in astonishment. The largest barge, a lumbering war machine carrying hundreds of men, was listing to the side. In front of their eyes it started to tilt more and more and they could hear the startled screams and the beginning of panic from the men on board. It sank in a matter of minutes, so heavy that it dragged all the men on board along with it.
"There goes another one," a young boy cried, and pointed to a smaller ship that was starting to tilt. "How is this possible?" another second demanded of Zefrem.
A smile of pure astonishment spread across Zefrem's face as he watched barge after barge start to sink. "It's Miache. She must have been able to sneak out to the harbor."
The turning point came when another three ships had been sunk. With the defenders still sending waves of catapult fire and Miache's forces working like a pack of wolves, harrying the bellies of the ships, the Carthaki had no chance. The remaining ships gathered together and moved out to sea. A tumultuous cheer rose from the city walls and Zefrem watched in amazement as a flock of birds arrived to settle on the walls along with the giddy people.
It was only after he'd been hugged and smacked in the back and jostled by nearly every one of the defenders that he realized the swimmers were staggering to shore, exhausted. Many were dripping water and blood, hit by Carthaki arrows. Others didn't return at all, having been pulled down by the ships they had worked so hard to destroy. Most were children, the city's strongest swimmers.
Zefrem scanned the shore desperately, looking for any hint of moonbeam hair among the survivors. His heart seemed to stop beating when he saw a pale figure floating face down in the water. It was only the work of a moment to race down from the walls and splash out to her, but it seemed to take hours. Voices called urgently from the shore for him to bring her over so the healers could look at her, but Zefrem ignored them all.
Tenderly, gently, he turned her over so that she was facing the sky and took her palm. He placed the jewel in it and closed her fingers around the hard surface.
He sat there and waited until she began to cough and sputter, elevating her above the water and stroking her hair until the tremors stopped.
Her eyes focused on his and she smiled weakly. "You'll never get it from me now," and Zefrem let out a bark of laughter and kissed her furiously.
9. The bed was too soft. Zefrem shifted anxiously and tried to find a comfortable position to sleep, but never seemed to be able to drift off. The bed was too soft, the pillows too fluffy, the coverlet stifling. The perfume spread liberally about the room only seemed to clog his nostrils, and even the very clothes on his back seemed to cling and restrict him.
The duke's palace was a beautiful, relaxing place to visit, but Zefrem felt like he was going stark, raving mad inside the luxurious walls.
"Can't sleep again?" Miache asked sleepily.
Zefrem immediately felt guilty and rushed to assure her, "No, no, I'm fine. Go back to sleep."
As usual, Miache was impossible to deter. "Don't lie to me. You haven't been sleeping for days now."
Zefrem shrugged and turned in bed to face his pale-haired lass, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "You're right," he finally admitted. "I don't know how much longer I can take this. I've never stayed in one place for so long."
"When are you going to leave?" Miache finally asked, and it was only when she voiced the words that he realized he had been making subconscious escape plans for weeks.
"It depends," he said carefully. "I want to make sure the duke's regent council really is going to do a proper job, and I need to finish working out those treaties with the rival thief gangs, and…" he paused, not sure how Miache would react. He knew very well that Miache could choose to stay or go as she pleased, just as she joined him in bed or left him cold and alone as her will dictated. "It depends on what you want to do," he finally admitted. There was no lying to Miache when she was determined to get answers.
"Who said anything about me?"
Zefrem sighed and was glad that the dark prevented his face from showing any emotion. "Never mind, I shouldn't have said anything at all. Go back to bed."
He turned away and closed his eyes, hoping his voice had betrayed none of his sadness and betrayal. He had no claim on Miache, but he had hoped she might want to stay with him. He should have known she would be enjoying her new role as heroine of Tyra. Finally she had achieved the station in life her noble birth dictated, and he would be damned if stood in the way of her happiness.
"I didn't mean it like that, you know," Miache said dryly, breaking the silence. "I just meant that this is your decision to make." Zefrem didn't respond, thinking that it was fine for her to say that it was his decision, but how could he possibly make a decision that would take him away from her? "By all the gods," Miache sighed, scooting across the bed and straddling him. "Don't you know that I'll follow you anywhere, you silly man? I'm more than ready to be out of this cursed city. The nesting birds are driving me insane, and if I have Duke Raynson ask me to play dollies with him one more time I might scream."
At that point, Zefrem really had no other choice but to kiss Miache soundly in order to cut her ranting off before she got going. That tongue of hers could be wicked, and he had much better ideas about how it could be used.
Much later Miache asked sleepily, "Where will we go?"
"I thought we could take a trip to Carthak first and pay a visit to the men who stole you; plus, there are always jobs in Carthak for a good mercenary. Then maybe up to Scanra to see if we can find your family, and then…"
10."They saved Tyra, Miache and Zefrem and the Dominion Jewel. The city was a pirate's nest when they came, a sinkhole fit only for cutthroats and thieves. They made it a lawful tradin' city where a man's word was a bindin' contract. The man and woman vanished, and the Jewel came next to Norrin, but Tyra still prospers. That was three hundred years gone."