Chapter 76

The muddy streets of Listonia’s middle port city, named Parlat, were filled with people when the small group of strangers made their way down them.

Strangers were a common sight in Parlat but that didn’t keep many from stopping to stare at the procession.

There were numerous reasons for the disruption.

The group was clearly of mixed nationalities, something seen only in pirate bands that sometimes came ashore. The man in front looked much like the people on the streets – even if he was dressed differently. There was an older man with paler skin walking with a woman of the same skin tone – but they didn’t appear to be captives. They were accompanied by a large, powerful man with facial features that were familiar in the city.

The four in the center were accompanied by half a dozen men-at-arms. The soldiers alone would have caused a commotion. Groups of armed men were generally frowned upon in most port cities of the world. Even Tyrell, a city that banned few things, prohibited groups of armed men from gathering unless they were somehow affiliated with the crown.

Parlat had no such formal law but the dockmaster had noted that the commissar that ran the city would likely be alerted if more than a handful of armed retainers accompanied the group. He also had noted that a “dispensation could be purchased” (from him, of course) if the cargo to be transported was of great value.

Amelia had seethed at the pompous little twit that had come aboard to inspect the ship (and to solicit a bribe).

“The cargo we carry is more valuable than any goods you have in this place,” she had stated. “We are duty bound to protect it and we will not pay for the privilege of doing our duty.”

Her words had been backed up by nods from several large warriors on the deck.

Amelia had put a hand on her husband’s shoulder and the shoulder of the High Bishop as she continued.

“We bring a man to the home of his birth and a representative sent directly from King Joseph of Azkoval,” she had declared. “These men will be protected at all costs.”

“At all costs,” Merritt had intoned in a gravelly voice.

The dockmaster had taken a brief look at the documents Alexander carried but had paid scant attention. He was more worried about escaping the situation with his life intact. He, of course, had men-at-arms with him. But they were outnumbered tenfold – and he wasn’t certain it would matter if the numbers were equal.

“We will keep the numbers small,” Morane had said, playing peacemaker. “We pose no threat to Parlat. We pose no threat to Listonia. We wish to establish trade between Azkoval and Listonia. And I wish to speak to the priests about a personal matter. Our men will create no trouble. But they will respond to any trouble that presents itself.”

The conversation had been spoken in List so nobody aboard knew exactly what was said. But they knew the difference in Morane’s intonations. His voice had been pleasant during most of the talk. It had hardened at the end – and he had looked meaningfully at the men and women surrounding him.

Merritt had understood and the large man had crossed his arms and bunched the muscles in his arms. The rest had followed his lead. Even the women under arms looked menacing.

The dockmaster had looked at his meager force and gulped.

“Discretion is all we can ask,” he had said, returning to Trade Common and forcing a smile to his face. “Please enjoy your stay and I hope you find all that you seek.”

The curiosity had increased as the group had moved farther away from the water and it reached its apex as they reached the heart of the city.

The palace of the city’s commissar was in the center and all roads led to the palace. That was where Alexander needed to stop.

The Conclave of the Church of the Most Holy Serrat was located on a hill overlooking the city.

Morane put a hand on Merritt’s arm as the group neared the palace.

“I wish to do this alone,” the priest said in a soft voice.

Merritt frowned.

“No harm will come to me,” Morane promised.

“I am not concerned with physical harm,” the large man replied.

Morane smiled.

“I will be fine,” he assured his friend, “come what may.”

Merritt’s frown deepened but he nodded. He knew full well that some demons must be faced without assistance.

Morane watched as the others headed toward the impressive dwelling in the middle of town. Every few paces, Alexander or Amelia or Merritt would turn to look back at him.

He gave them all a wave and hearty smile (that he didn’t feel) before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

The city of Parlat stirred nothing in the priest’s memory. He had grown up just outside the city. His parents had been dirt farmers so trips into the metropolis had been rare. He had come to the city when he was of age and he had sought out the Conclave of the Church of the Most Holy Serrat.

He had spent two full years overlooking the city but had ventured into Parlat only a handful of times. Still, he thought he should recognize something.

He didn’t.

Even the things he thought might be familiar – the tannery, the stables, the inn, the taverns – were not in places that he expected them to be.

His meanderings led him to the north side of the city. He had grown up a short walk from the boundary but he saw nothing that gave hope to his memory.

Even the area that he had walked or ridden a thousand times seemed different.

“You seem perplexed, stranger,” a voice said from Morane’s side. He turned a found a man of about his age standing there.

“I have been gone many a year,” he admitted with sadness. “Now nothing seems as I had left it.”

The man nodded as he rubbed his short beard.

“Depending upon how long you were gone, nothing might be the same,” he admitted. “We lost a lot of this area to a storm – must have been five or six years back. We had no more than gotten it rebuilt when a fire claimed all we’d finished. What stands here today is far different than it was a few years ago.”

Morane nodded.

“Were many lives lost?” he asked.

“Some but not as many as you might think,” the man said. “We got an early warning from a ship that somehow made its way through. We got most of the families moved to safety. We lost more horses and goats than people. The fire came when few had moved back to the area. We lost three children but the rest were spared – Serrat be praised.”

Morane nodded again, this time with a sad expression on his face.

“The fire was man’s doing, not Serrat’s,” he said.

“That is true enough,” the man admitted. “The three children we lost were the ones that set the blaze. Took down all the new buildings and half of the woods. I suppose we reap what we sow.”

“Most of the time,” Morane agreed. “Thank you for the information. I was beginning to wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me.”

The man offered a hearty pat on the shoulder before returning to his daily toils. Morane set off in a new direction – away from the conclave again.

His second journey was as fruitless as the first. There was simply nothing in Parlat that sparked a memory. He realized that he could probably point out every place of interest in Tyrell – and some places that were best left undisturbed.

This was no longer his home. His home was far across the water. Regardless of what he learned about his wife or his order, Azkoval was where he belonged.

His decision made, he turned to head up the hill to the conclave that he had once called his own. He stopped when he saw three familiar faces awaiting him.

Alexander, Amelia and Merritt all offered small smiles.

“I might seem like I am too old to learn new things but I’m not,” Alexander said as he put an arm around the priest. “King Joseph has taught me that there are things I might wish to face alone but there is nothing that I must fight by myself.”

“Now if we can only teach the king that,” Amelia noted with a laugh. The small joke caused Morane to smile.

“Come,” Merritt said. “We will learn where you stand and then we will support you whatever comes next.”

Morane gave a nod.

“Yes,” he said. “That is what I learned during my trek. This was once a home to me and to Salima. It no longer is. My home – my family – is far away. And I know they miss me as much as I miss them. We will find what we find. I will accept it or perhaps I won’t. I can’t be certain. If Salima is happy, I believe I will be able to move forward. If she is not...”

“Then I will rid her of what causes her unhappiness,” Merritt declared.

Morane glanced up from the ground and found the larger man’s face. He saw honesty and determination.

“Do you still love her?” Merritt asked.

Morane considered for only a moment before nodded.

“Then before I depart I will ensure she has a life that will make her happy,” Merritt stated. “That is my pledge to our friendship. Your wife will be happy ... if you stay or if you go.”

“She was always happy,” Morane admitted. “In that, she reminds me of Garten’s wife. Salima is a pleasant soul in a world filled with strife. It’s why I loved her as I did.”

“And you are the same,” Amelia told the priest.

“We’ll never know if we don’t finish this walk,” Merritt pointed out.

Morane took a deep breath and headed up the hill.

“The king and his ... coterie ... have a valid point,” Victoria noted as she lifted the coverings to permit her husband access to the bed. As had been her habit since her wedding night, she wore nothing beneath the coverings.

Victoria preferred skin-to-skin contact with her husband – and Genrico wasn’t about to complain.

Victoria had always been an observant person. She watched and she learned.

She had learned from watching her friends that certain poses could be very alluring.

So Victoria lay on her side, her head propped on her elevated hand, with her top leg covering most of her lower charms. Her bosom and the rounded swell of her hip and bottom were open to her husband’s inspections.

She couldn’t help but smile as she saw Genrico’s eyes tracing her form. She waited until he was looking at her face before rolling to her back to give him access to any portion of her anatomy he might have missed.

She had both of her hands behind her head. She decided that motion made her breasts look even more inviting.

“Don’t you agree?” she asked.

Genrico gulped and moved his gaze upward again. As usual when he’d seen Victoria in any form of undress, his face wore a slightly stunned expression.

He had no idea what his wife had even said – and she knew it.

“Why don’t you undress and join me?” she asked. “We’ll discuss the king’s ideas.”

Genrico had become quite adept at getting unclothed over the past few months. Victoria noticed his arousal through his trousers. She gave him a small caress through the fabric as he pulled his tunic over his head.

“I think you like the idea, too,” she noted.

She had resumed her previous position on the bed by the time Genrico’s eyes were unobstructed.

“What?” he asked.

Victoria simply smiled and waited until his boots and trousers were on the floor before patting the mattress beside her.

“The idea the king and his wives presented,” she said as her husband took his place beside her.

Genrico was no fool. He had seen Victoria having a long conversation with each of the Deseret king’s wives. He suspected the nature of conversations when she sat down with the king’s young sister.

In his life, Genrico had heard many men in his village and many soldiers in his army offer a variation of a similar theme: Never argue with a naked and willing woman.

But this time he just turned his head to look at his wife – and ignored Victoria’s fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

“It is not an idea I am willing to consider,” he said flatly.

Victoria lifted her finger off his chest and ran it down his chin.

“But the idea is valid,” she noted. “You must admit that.”