And now for a bit of a change of scene...
Chapter 10
The house of this particular Tarkaan, which could only really be described as a sandstone palace, stood out against the warm sun setting behind it, candles flickering in open windows. The rest of Tashbaan had grown quiet, the throngs of people returning to their homes, the gates closed for the evening. Word of the happenings in Narnia had not yet reached the ears of the Tisroc, or perhaps they would be preparing for a war as well.
As much as the Tisroc hated and plotted against the four barbarian kings and queens, he remembered a time when Narnia had been ruled by the Witch, and would not have been eager to return to it.
However, Tashbaan was silent, business, as usual, waiting until daylight. But at this mansion, granted the tarkaan by the kindness of the Tisroc, may he live forever, night was when most business was conducted.
At least, the sort of business that interested the prisoner being led through Tashbaan's streets to said mansion by two armed guards, his hands bound in front of him with a thick rope. He carried no weapons, hardly a threat to the two guards with spears.
Their prisoner was a young man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, obviously of Calormene blood, though he felt no loyalty towards it. Then again, he felt no loyalty towards anyone, unless they had adequate pay. Save one person.
He was wearing a short turban, black like all of his clothes, which must have made him excruciatingly hot, though, if it did, he did not seem bothered by it. He was thin, but the guards had been warned not to underestimate him.
He had spent the last three years slaving in a dwarf mine, after all. If he could survive that, he must have been a direct descendant of Tash himself.
The dwarf mine, complete with twelve dwarves to make sure the work was carried out properly, had been a gift from the Barbarian Queen of the North to the Tisroc's son, and despite her purpose for it being to simply produce gold and good favor between the two countries, the mine was used to carry out the sentences of murderers and thieves. Of course, it also produced gold. Most of the miners sentenced did not last a year.
There were no people crowding Tashbaan's usually busy streets at this time of night, and the silence was almost frightening in so large a city. All the kiosks and booths usually bunched against the street sides had been removed, significantly widening the road.
The odd troop reached the gates leading into the inner sanctum of the tarkaan's mansion, where only true nobles should go. The iron gates blocked off that part of the mansion from the kitchens, stables, and servants' quarters. The guards were silent, faces set in stone, and the prisoner had not spoken a word since being led out of the dwarf mines.
One of the guards stepped forward, swinging open the gates, and their prisoner was given a rough shove forward. He lost his balance for a moment, tripping forward, before being yanked upright by his bonds.
The rusty iron gates shut ominously behind them. The trio started forward again, down long hallways more richly decorated than the part of the house they had just come from. Jewels hung from the walls, sparkling in the light of the torches hanging by them.
There were twelve more halls to go through, as well as a set of stairs, before the guards finally led the bound man into a small room, hidden in a nook of the mansion that few ever entered. One of the guards opened the door and fell prostrate to the floor, his boots sticking out close enough for the prisoner to kick, though he forced himself to refrain from doing so.
Whoever was inside said something, and the guard answered in a tone filled with fear.
Then the guard returned, and grabbed hold of the bound man's arm, yanking him inside the little room.
The prisoner felt a flutter of annoyance run through him. It was his most common emotion; indeed, most of the others had been shoved down long ago.
The room was richly furnished, just like all the other rooms in this part of the tarkaan's dwelling. There was a long black rug made of fur on the floor, and an animal skin hanging from the far wall. A lounging chair and a settee graced the middle of the room, a wooden table between them. A plate of exotic fruit rested on the table.
In the tall-backed chair sat the owner of all this, fingertips rubbing together, a cold smile on his features. There were no other people in the room.
The tarkaan sat expectantly, like he was waiting for the prisoner to bow. When the man did not, the tarkaan let out something like a sigh. He gestured for the prisoner to sit down on the settee and offered him a fruit, both of which the man refused.
With a flash of annoyance running through his eyes, the tarkaan motioned to the guards. They promptly shoved the bound man to his knees, but he would go no farther. Again, the tarkaan offered the fruit. Again, the prisoner refused, smelling the foul stench emanating from it.
With a shrug, the nobleman said, "Well, I think I'll have one." He picked up a mango and brought it to his lips, biting deeply so that a bit of the juice dribbled down his chin. The fruit he offered the prisoner was tossed behind the couch.
The prisoner waited, hands clasped before him in silence. The guards each held a hand on one of his shoulders, and they had not bothered to loosen his bonds.
"I wish to hire you because I have heard that you are the best there is in Calormene, O awe-inspiring hunter," the tarkaan said finally, setting the half-eaten fruit back into the bowl. The prisoner, once a bounty hunter by trade, let out a noise conveying his disgust. "And I need the best."
"Might I ask, O Great One, what it is you need my services for?" the hunter spoke, more like a statement than a question.
The tarkaan sighed again, his eyes clouding over as he thought. "You were thrown in the dwarf mines for murdering men of the Tisroc, may he live forever."
"I kill a lot of people, lordship," the hunter replied, glancing up at him, and the Tarkaan's nose flared in annoyance at the lack of proper flattery. This hunter was a Calormene, after all. He should certainly know better.
"Very well. I have a proposition for you, bounty hunter." The man closed his eyes for a moment, as if willing down his anger, though the bounty hunter sensed that it was not at himself. When he opened them again, those eyes were dark. "I sent for you because I desire your tracking skills, not your skills as an assassin. If you accept this job, I will see that your sentence is removed and you will be free. You will also be amply rewarded. However, not a soul must know of your purpose."
The bounty hunter raised a brow. "I am listening, O Esteemed Tarkaan."
"You see, I recently lost a slave boy, about twelve or thirteen years in age. I am almost certain that he ran away to the North, as most of those foolish slaves try to do, and I want you to retrieve him for me." The tarkaan's eyes left no room for questioning, not used to being refused.
The bounty hunter's forehead wrinkled in bewilderment. "I must confess, O Voluminous One, that I feel somewhat offended by your offer. What is the life of one slave boy? Send your dogs after him, and have him dragged back." No one ever spoke to this particular tarkaan like that, but the bounty hunter had nothing to lose, he supposed.
"I am willing to pay you whatever sum you require to fetch me back this boy. I will also see to it that your sentence in the dwarf mines is lifted. However, if you refuse, I will see to it that are you killed in the morning. No one will care," the Tarkaan smirked, his voice whining now, suddenly desperate. "He is invaluable to me, this slave boy."
The bounty hunter froze. "Whatever sum?" he repeated, suddenly interested. He did not care about death; indeed, he had lost the fear of death long ago, but the thought of leaving the mines and being paid was appealing, at least.
The Calormen bit his lip, and then nodded. "Just bring me back the boy."
The bounty hunter considered this. A thousand questions ran through his mind. In any other circumstance, he would have forced them back down, but he had nothing to lose now. "What is he to you, then?"
The potential employer bristled, angry at not being addressed properly as well as at having his motives questioned. "That is none of your concern."
The bounty hunter lifted his bound hands. "I will not take the job until I know why you want this boy so badly. I have never seen a slave master so concerned about getting back one slave, certainly not a master as powerful as yourself. Aside from that, whatever information you may tell me will be helpful in retrieving him."
The Calormen nodded sadly, clasping his hands together, frowning. He looked rather nervous, and his upper lip was sweating. "Fine. But what I tell you must never be repeated."
The bounty hunter smiled, eyes flashing. Sometimes satisfying curiosity was more important than payment, to his mind. "Agreed. Who would I tell?"
The tarkaan nodded to the guards again. One of them stepped forward and cut loose the bounty hunter's hands, then they both bowed low before their master and disappeared out the door.
It was not until after the door was shut and the tarkaan stood and paced for a full minute that he spoke. Then he began to pace across the rug.
The bounty hunter stayed kneeling, finding it in his best interest to remain so.
"This boy I am sending you after is my bastard, child of a Northern slave woman. He was born just after an alliance was agreed to between my house and the house of the woman I was to marry. I could not bring myself to kill him when he was born, as Tash the Inexorable would have it, so I kept him as my son's Whipping Boy. He knew not of his heritage, but as you can see, this would put me in a very awkward position if the truth were ever discovered. If he makes it to Archenland, I fear that his mother's family will find him, but I still cannot bring myself to have him killed. Bring him back to me alive, bounty hunter, and you will have more gold than you have ever seen."
The bounty hunter didn't wonder what had happened to the woman, the boy's mother. He knew there were many wealthy men in Tashbaan who took barbarian women as slaves. Still..."I will do this thing for you. Tell me, what does the boy look like?"
"He is pale, being half-barbaric. But he has dark hair and dark eyes, and his skin is rather tan this time of year, in the hot sun. Almost enough to make him seem like a proper Calormen. Takes after his sire in that way, I suppose, though he is too much of a cowardly child to take after me in anything other than appearance. He is thin, and quiet. Is that enough for you, O Promising Hunter?"
The bounty hunter's lip curled, disgusted that this man, one of the most influential people of Calormene, had slept with a barbarian, and found compassion for the barbarian bastard. "And what will you do with him when I return him to you, O Exalted Judge?"
The tarkaan shook his head. "That is truly none of your concern. Suffice to say that I want him back alive and uninjured. Now, will you take the job, or shall I be forced to remove your head from your shoulders for the knowledge you have just learned?"
The bounty hunter smiled. "I will do this thing for you, O Great One, have no doubt. The boy will be returned to you within a month's end, if he has gone to the North. Sooner, if he is still in Tashbaan, although I doubt it. But I have one question. How do you know I will not simply escape to the North and never return? I would be free."
His employer smirked. "I highly doubt a man like yourself could bear to remain in the Barbarian Wastelands, even if it meant your freedom. Besides, I have it on very good authority that you will not fail me."
He clapped his hands and suddenly the door opened again. A young woman walked in, her face veiled in red silk, matching what little clothing she was wearing, her stomach and feet bare. Her dark skin glistened in the candlelight, and the bounty hunter thought he saw the outline of a mauve bruise on her leg, through the nearly translucent silk.
She kept her eyes and head downcast as she nimbly stepped further into the room.
She had not seen the bounty hunter, but the moment he laid eyes on her, the man stiffened, cursing his weakness. He paled at the sight of her face.
The tarkaan reached up and lifted the veil from her face, revealing it. There was a golden crown holding the veil to her head. A gold circlet also enclosed her hips. Her dark brown eyes lifted behind stunning long lashes for a fleeting instant, meeting the hunter's gaze. They widened in recognition, and then just as quickly lowered again. A slight flush tainted her cheeks.
The tarkaan took another step towards her, entirely too close, and ran a gentle thumb down her cheek. The girl shivered beneath his touch and flinched away.
Irritated, the tarkaan slapped her and she fell to the ground with a huff, landing in a tangled heap on the ground, her eyes locking on the bounty hunter once more.
The tarkaan rolled his eyes, clapping his hands loudly enough for the guards waiting outside to hear. His eyes were twinkling at the bounty hunter's reaction, and he knew then he'd won. The man had tried to hide it, but the tarkaan was not a fool, and he had planned this carefully. The bounty hunter would not fail him, and the boy would be returned.
A guard walked in and grabbed the girl's smooth arm, yanking her roughly back out of the room. Seeming to realize the desperation of her situation only at that moment, the girl let out a loud, terrified scream before the door slammed, and she was gone.
The bounty hunter stared at the shut door long after the sounds of her struggle with the guards died out. He didn't trust himself to look at the man in front of him.
"This slave girl has been nothing but trouble for me, the past few years," the tarkaan told the hunter plainly, and, with a sigh, he turned forward once more. "She ran away a few months ago. I would have killed her for running from me, but then I found out who she was, and I found a better way to punish her."
The tarkaan grinned, throwing a bag of gold at the bounty hunter's knees. The bounty hunter picked it up and glanced inside, but his face betrayed nothing now, the same mask it had been when he walked in.
"How did you find her, if I may ask, O Fearsome Judge?" the bounty hunter at last demanded, voice bland.
It should not have been so easy to find her. He had made sure of that before entering the mines. His last promise to a sickly mother who was now surely dead.
This was why he hated weakness. He had worked so hard to eradicate all weaknesses from his life, but still familial ties destroyed everything he had given up to become what he was now.
"You will be paid the rest upon completing your task, bounty hunter. You leave in the morning. Tell my men if you need anything," the bounty hunter responded, avoiding his question. "Do not fail me, or the girl will die. If you return without the boy, or he is dead, then I will sacrifice her to Tash the Majestic."
The bounty hunter bowed his head as he stood to his feet. "It will be done."
The tarkaan squinted at him. "See that it is. And I trust you understand the importance of secrecy about such a quest."
"Of course, O Noble One."
The tarkaan clapped his hands again, and the bounty hunter flinched, expecting the guards to drag the girl back in. They did not, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure if he could face her, after all this time. Especially knowing that his occupation, something she had always disapproved of along with their mother, might cost her life.
Not that he would allow that. After all, this was a simple mission. How hard could it be to find one boy slave in the North?
The tarkaan gestured to the bounty hunter, and the guards looked at him in disgust. "Give this man whatever he needs."
"Yes, my lord." They waited for the hunter to stand before escorting him out of the room. He would be leaving at nightfall, not wishing to delay a moment longer than necessary.
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