Chapter 12: A Trap

The cobbled streets of Cartuga’s Merchant’s District were quiet as Sara walked them in the deepening twilight, the shop fronts and stalls closed for the night. The few people that did pass her eyed her oddly, for a young woman walking the streets alone at this hour surely was odd. And foolish. That would pass, with time, but for now, most Cartugans were unaware of how their lives had just changed. Already, in the hour since she’d stepped away from Rendric’s mansion in the Master’s District, three groups of men had tried to nab her, hoping to fetch a pretty price for her from Lady Elhorn or one of the other traders. She had spared their lives, of course, but they would all be nursing broken bones for a while. Still, three attempts was less than she’d expected. A week ago it would have been double that at least.

Reaching the end of the street, she stopped in the paved town square and stared up at the huge - and physically inaccurate - statue of Lord Eldred, the current governor of Cartuga. Eldred’s life would be changing tonight, too; the man had run his course.

A stiff gust of wind tugged at her cloak and rippled the skirts of the thin white silk dress she wore beneath, but she paid it little mind as she studied the thirty-foot mountain of marble carved into the image of a handsome, broad-shouldered man, gripping his lapels in strong hands and his chin lifted nobly. The fact that Lord Eldred was short and fat in reality made the whole thing ridiculous, even more so for the two bare-breasted marble women kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him as if he was Aros made flesh.

Shaking her head, Sara continued on, crossing the wide square and taking another street that would lead her to her first stop of the night. Scattered clouds scudded quickly across the sky, briefly covering the stars as they made their journey, silhouetted in a golden-silver halo by the fat moon rising, its rim just peeking above the rooftops in the eastern districts. She smiled as approached the red brick building on the corner of a wide intersection dividing the Merchant’s District and the Master’s District, light and music spilling out of the open doors, the first signs of merriment she’d seen in some time. Not the raucous and wild din that you would likely hear down near the docks, but true, genuine laughter, the clinking of glasses rather than smashing. Two burly Orcs stood by the doors, their brown arms bulging where they were folded across their chests. They watched her approach but offered no barrier as she passed them. They were here to stop fights or prevent unwanted patrons from entering, no more.

Stepping into the Lucky Stallion, her smile deepened to see the place stuffed with patrons of all kinds. Mostly Humans - though there were a few Orcs, Dwarves and Elves present, as well as an odd-looking fellow with a serpentine face and black scales across his cheeks and forehead - sat at the tables across the floor or in the booths, many in fine or at least well-cut clothes, no few bearing the medallion of the Merchant’s Guild. That was one guild Sara would be leaving alone for the most part; the rot in Cartuga was elsewhere. The stools along the wide bar on the left side of the room were also full, but that was well; she wasn’t here to drink, and she’d just eaten. On a stage in the back corner, a rotund man puffed on a series of wooden pipes that produced a hollow, whistling tune she rather liked while a woman beside him softly slapped some tall, narrow drums. Together they played a peaceful yet lively tune.

In a crowd such as this, she kept her vala well contained, and not just for the usual reasons. “Sara!” she heard the voice before she located its owner. A dark, beaming face appeared a moment later, and then she was being hugged fiercely. “It’s you!”

“Hello, Lennise,” she replied warmly, hugging the other woman back. “How are you?” Pretty and buxom, she wore her frizzy hair pinned back against her head tightly, but it fanned out in the back. The style made her big, dark eyes seem even more so. She wore a green silk dress that accentuated her generous curves, and a stout necklace of gold and emeralds rested on her plump cleavage. Sara was surprised to see her dressed so, so soon after her recent ordeal.

“Never better!” she said happily. “Look at this place!” she threw an arm out to take in the room. “Word is spreading! This is all because of you!”

“Hush, my friend,” Sara said kindly, lowering her voice and taking her gently by the shoulders. It was nice to see Lennise so happy. A week ago, she had been firmly in the clutches of the mor’haim. “I suppose people will know who I am soon enough, but not just yet, hey?”

Lennise’s eyes widened and she nodded quickly. “Oh! I am sorry!” she said in a hushed voice. “I’m just excited, is all! Nobody has seen a...” She left the next word out intentionally. “For over a week now!”

“And most people never will again,” Sara added firmly. Rendric and the others had been given firm orders on the matter, and they would not disobey her.

Lennise’s bright expression became one of deep gratitude. “I can never thank you enough,” she said, eyes suddenly brimming. Sara decided to change the course of the conversation lest Lennise start crying right here in the middle of the tavern.

“I’m happy to see you working,” she started to say, then stopped herself. That was not really a change in subject, but Lennise perked up at once.

“Oh, I couldn’t stay away!” she replied, tucking her arm through Sara’s and leading her further inside, toward the bar. “Besides, you know how Barnett is. Now that he’s got me back, he’s not likely to let me laze about!”

Sara chuckled. She didn’t really know Lennise’s brother; she’d only met him once. “I think he just wants you close by for a while.”

“You’re probably right,” she said with an exaggerated sigh as she led Sara past the bar where a couple of women with warm smiles were serving customers. Lennise took her through a door at the back of the room near the stage, which led into a short hallway with more doors. “Barnett will want to see you,” Lennise said as she pulled open the door at the end of the hall and ushered Sara inside.

The room was small, with a simple desk and a couple of chairs and not much else in the way of furniture. An iron lamp hanging from a chain dangled above the desk, providing light enough to see. Barnett was sitting at the desk, looking over some papers as they came in. His bald, dark head came up, his face splitting in a broad smile. “Sara!” He was up and around the desk in a heartbeat, his large, muscular frame tightly wrapped in a red silk shirt. He deftly navigating the chairs as he approached. “I have been eagerly awaiting your visit.” He surprised her by pulling her into a mighty hug. She rather enjoyed it; he was a fine-looking man, with strong arms and a deep chest.

“Hello, Barnett,” she greeted him as they hugged. “I would have come sooner, but other things have demanded my attention.”

“No doubt,” he said, releasing her. “So much has changed already. Please, sit.” He gestured to one of the padded chairs, but she shook her head. The music back in the common room changed to a more rhythmic, pulsing beat, and feet were stamping in time as people danced.

“Thank you, but no, I must be moving on soon.” There was much left to do this night, but she’d wanted to see Lennise and her brother first. “Did the Elf come to you? Gaivanya?”

“She did,” Barnett replied, his face growing serious. “Shaking and laughing and crying all at once. She was all but naked, too. I thought she was mad at first, until she settled. What in the Hells happened to her?”

“Where is she?” Sara ignored his question for now.

“She is gone,” Lennise answered. “She had a room here for two nights, then on the third morning she was nowhere to be found.”

“She was better the last you saw her?”

Lennise and Barnett exchanged a brief look. “As far as we could tell,” Barnett said slowly. “But High Elves are difficult to converse with at the best of times.”

Sara hoped she had done enough for the woman. Gaivanya had been under Rendric’s control for a long time. Centuries, maybe. Who knew what being released so suddenly might do? I did what I could, she told herself firmly. With luck, she is well. “Thank you for taking her in.”

“There were others, too,” Barnett said. “None stayed here, but the town is still talking about the ones who came running from the Master’s District that night. They all fled town, best I can tell. Some may have gone into hiding here, but I have heard nothing of that.”

Sara wished she had thought of how to help the poor people beyond just releasing them from their binding, but that night had left little room in her mind for it. She could see the questions in Barnett’s and Lennise’s dark eyes, so she offered a brief explanation they would understand. “They were under a spell cast on them by the Masters,” she began. Lennise shifted uncomfortably at just the mention of it, so Sara kept it short. “Some were only recently taken -” she gestured at Lennise “-and found themselves again easily once released. Others were under the spell longer, and it may take them some time to recover.” She hoped that was it. It would be a sad thing if their minds were broken. Yet another crime to lay at the hands of Rendric and the others. He would spend the rest of his days paying for the last thousand years. Sara would make sure of it. Barnett and Lennise nodded slowly, their faces grave. Sara put on a happier face. “So, how is the town? I see the Stallion is thrumming.”

“The people are growing less nervous,” Barnett replied brightly, resting his bottom on the desk and taking his weight on his hands. “They whisper they have not seen a nightcloak for more than a week now.” Nightcloak was one of the terms used for the mor’haim, as they often got around swathed in black cloaks.

“At least two brothels have closed down,” Lennise added. “And there’s talk of more on the brink.” That made sense; the mor’haim had used their meldin in the brothels. It was clever, if horrible. Meldin traits made for a perfect whore. It was why the mor’haim were able to live in such luxury. Meldin whores could work longer hours and needed less rest. They were also uncommonly attractive. Soon, however, the only brothels left in town would be the ordinary sort, with ordinary men and women selling their services, though Sara would be leaving strong messages for the proprietors that their workers would be employed voluntarily and be cared for in every way possible. The only problem she hadn’t solved yet was what to do with the meldin that didn’t want to be released. Despite her best efforts, some of those under the control of the mor’haim wanted to stay that way. Mad fools, she thought irritably.

“That is good news,” Sara said with a smile. The change had happened at the core, the cause of the problem, and so the town would shift to adapt. The other reason she had come was to hear this news, and she was feeling easier knowing things were moving in a better direction. She talked a little more with Lennise and Barnett before saying goodbye, getting a surprise when Lennise kissed her firmly on the lips and suggested she stay for the evening. It was a further surprise when Barnett did the same, but she politely refused. The two siblings appeared not the least fazed by the fact they had both just propositioned the same woman, but then some people’s customs were different.

She left the Lucky Stallion in a buoyed mood, perhaps the best she’d felt in many days. Being cooped up in Rendric’s mansion had been stifling despite the enormity of the house. Thinking of him made her tweak the sensation in her mind that was him, as if she were pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. It reminded him that she was near, and very real. His madness was a problem, and it had not lessened since she’d bound him. They were all mad, to varying degrees, not a thing to make her job any easier.

From the Stallion she headed back to the town square, to the large stone building occupying one side. Serving as both the town hall and the centre of commerce, the three-level, tile-roofed structure was fronted by a clock tower, rearing an additional twenty feet above the highest roof peak. She sensed what was happening inside before she got close, and there was plenty to sense. Raucous shouting and laughter over lively music washed over her as she ascended the wide stone steps to the huge iron-strapped doors. A push proved them closed and locked, but a well-placed kick sent them flying open with a crash.

A wild party was in full swing in the long, wide hall. Dozens of men and women drank and danced and cavorted among the columns supporting the high ceiling, many of them in various states of undress, fine silks or velvets hanging loosely, or gone completely. Naked waiters and waitresses served drinks on round trays, somehow managing to keep them level despite the fondling hands of the revellers. Those that weren’t dancing were fucking right there in the middle of the party, on the floor, up against the walls, or on the rows of benches normally used to sit people attending a town meeting. Not all the wait staff were serving only drinks, apparently.

The echoing bang of the door crashing against the wall brought the celebrations to a stop. All eyes flew to Sara as she strode in. “So, this is how the illustrious elite of Cartuga spend their hours,” she began, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I had always been curious.” Her exposure to these people had been brief while in the mansion, and most of them had been masked, so she only recognised one. Lady Elhorn was perched on the raised stage at the back of the room, hurriedly pushing away a tall man who had been standing between her legs, naked except for a dome-topped hat. She fastidiously pulled her dress back into place and deliberately did not look at Sara.

“And who might you be,” an older man said, his speech a little slurred. He was leaning up against a nearby column, casually fondling the stout breast of a Dwarf girl with one hand while his other raised a silver wine cup to his lips. The Dwarf suffered his attentions placidly, as if used to the treatment. He ran a lewd eye over Sara. “Are you part of the entertainment?” Some of the other men grinned lecherously. Their eyes felt like rancid oil on her skin.

“That depends,” Sara replied, fixing him with a steady gaze. “On what you consider entertaining. I myself am likely to enjoy this evening greatly, though you may not.”

That got a few looks of confusion around the room. In the back, Lady Elhorn was trying to slip out a rear exit. “Lady Elhorn!” Sara snapped, freezing the woman in place. “You will remain here. I think you will find my presence much more preferable to what awaits you if you go outside.” The greying, usually stately woman turned back slowly, a frightened look on her beautiful face. She was right to be scared.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, girl,” a plump, middle-aged woman said coldly as she approached, her red silk gown hanging open all the way to her navel. “But your master has obviously handled you badly.” She stopped in front of Sara, eyeing her critically. “Who do you belong to?”

“That is not the question you should be asking,” Sara told her quietly. She shifted through the webs tangled with her vala, felt where the connections ran.

“I saw you!” a drunk man blurted suddenly, his big belly straining against a wine-soaked shirt. “At Elhorn’s last auction!” Other voices sprang up in agreement. Several sets of eyes found Lady Elhorn who was trying to appear as small as possible without moving.

“Who bought this bitch?” someone demanded of Elhorn.

“Whoever it was, they are damn slack with their discipline!”

“I bet it was Ashden! He lets his whores run loose like stray dogs!”

The vulgar remarks went on until Elhorn lifted her eyes off the floor. “Rendric,” she whispered, and it cut through the other voices like a knife. Wide eyes turned back to Sara as if seeing her for the first time.

“Rendric sent you?” the man playing with the Dwarf asked uncertainly. His hand fell away from her chest. Sensing a chance to escape, the girl smoothly stepped away and vanished behind the columns.

“No,” Sara replied flatly. “He did not.” Someone started ask a question, but she continued, cutting them off. “I am here of my own accord to tell you that your hold over Cartuga is now at an end.” Her words were met by silence, and then laughter, followed by jokes directed at both her and Lady Elhorn, who was looking decidedly ill. Elhorn was clever enough to know something big had happened, even if she didn’t know what exactly.

“Wait till Eldred gets here!” the plump woman in front of Sara roared, her whole body shaking with laughter, causing her gown to fall open further. She appeared not to notice. “He’s going to love you! And you, Elhorn!” she crowed as she turned to the other woman. “I never knew you for the joking kind, but that was really quite good!” Irritation flared in Sara. She was running out of patience. “You had us going there, girl,” the plump woman went on, returning her attention to Sara as she wiped her eyes. “I don’t know how you got here, but seeing as you are, let’s get you out of that dress. You’re too skinny for my tastes, but Lord Bayron has had his eye on you ever since you walked in.” She reached for the buckle of Sara’s silver belt, then screamed as Sara snatched her hand and twisted, forcing the woman - she was quite fat, really, plump was too kind a word - to her knees.

Angry cries rose from the other nobles, and some shouted for their guards, but Sara knew none would come. A large man came for her, hands outstretched, and when she sent him sprawling back down the hall, sliding on the polished stone floor, the others erupted in panic and charged for the exits. Sara smiled down at the woman on her knees as nobles and servants bolted around them. She stared up at Sara white-faced. Sara was not supposed to enjoy things like this - Amina had warned her of the dangers it posed - but she could not stop the swelling sense of satisfaction at giving these greedy, arrogant fools their comeuppance.

No sooner had the first few gotten outside than they came surging back in, even more terrified than before, pushing against those still trying to get out. Sara’s smile deepened as they all gathered in a tight cluster in the centre of the hall. Black-cloaked figures entered from several doors at once, silently crossing the floor until they surrounded the nobles. One figure was dragging a naked and somewhat dishevelled-looking Lord Eldred, who whimpered and quailed as he was thrown in with the rest of the nobles. He huddled against them, his overfed body quivering in fear.

“As I said,” Sara began firmly. She released the fat woman’s wrist and jerked her chin up. The woman got the message and scrambled into the circle, careful not to brush against any black cloaks. “Your hold over Cartuga is now ended. Will there be any arguments?”

There was a deathly silence, until a nobleman asked in a shaky voice, “Wh-what do you want?”

“Oh, I’m glad you asked,” Sara replied, smiling in grim amusement as she came to stand in between two mor’haim. She placed familiar hands on a shoulder of each. “Kneel!” she barked. As one, the mor’haim all knelt, much to the astonishment and terror of the nobles. There were more than a few moans and muttered prayers.

“I see I finally have your undivided attention,” Sara observed, making her voice light and happy. “That is good. Listen closely, and you may yet survive the evening.” She had no intention of killing any of them, but they didn’t need to know that.

“So then Erik says, “Pardon me, sir, but those are my pants!” The ring of seated people erupted with laughter as Sylvia finished her story, some falling back on the cushions scattered about the carpeted floor of the big tent, others slapping thighs or wiping tears from eyes. Elaina chuckled softly. She and Henley were sitting together at the rear of the tent, quietly watching the others talk and joke and drink and laugh. It had been a long time since they’d all been together, and tonight was very much a celebration. She had her head tucked under Henley’s arm, and she felt the deep rumble in his chest as he laughed along with the others.

They’d arrived yesterday, Erik and Sorla and Jeira, Ayla and Tavish, Lynelle and Sylvia, Rayna and Bella, with a new young arohim in tow called Mikel, who apparently had been discovered by Sara in Sarresh, of all places. Where was that girl? What was she up to? Regardless, another arohim had been added to their growing number. She eyed young Mikel over the rim of her pewter wine cup as she sipped. He was sitting cross-legged between Sylvia and Rayna, grinning from ear to ear. Elaina suspected the grin was partly for the joke, but mostly for the fact he was surrounded by pretty women clothed in vaima. There was a definite glint of mischief in his dark eyes, though Amina had knocked much of that out of him soon after getting her hands on him, according to Jeira.

It had taken five full days for their party reach the massive army traversing the Sorral Plain after Amina had left them, but they hadn’t done it alone; once the dispute between the Elves and Dwarves was settled, Amina had sent Henley to escort them here. The reunion had been one of tears and laughter and fierce hugs. Introductions had been made quickly, and in the way of those touched by Aros, friendships were forged rapidly. Kedron and Ostin and Liddea sat in the circle, as did Noah and Edda, all laughing just as hard as everyone else. Elsa, Smythe’s meldin, was present, too, as were Induin and Liaren, both just beginning to show signs of their pregnancy. To Elaina’s eyes, the twins glowed softly, something that only an arohim could see. The first arohim babes born from Elves, at least that she had heard of. Andil and Elessir said it had never happened, at least among their people, and their memories went back two-thousand years or more.

“We’re going to need a bigger tent,” Henley murmured, brushing his fingers down her arm. He had more or less read her thoughts. She tilted her face up to his and smiled. The only one not present was Amina, who had announced earlier she had something important to do tonight. She would return when it was done, whatever it was. Another peal of laughter exploded as Rayna, her blue eyes sparkling beneath her red curls, reached the climax of another tale.

“That would be nice,” Elaina replied softly. She wanted tonight to last forever. The only thing that would make it more complete was if Aran walked in right now. That was impossible, of course; he was still far to the east, moving further north by the day. At this distance, she received little through their bond aside from the sense he was alive and not inflicted by any serious injury. She looked for him in amathani every night, but had not seen him there for some time. To stop herself thinking about tomorrow, she said, “Elsa is lovely. And strong. She’s good for you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Henley agreed. His meldin was sitting on the left side of the circle, her sandy hair tumbling down around her pale shoulders. Elaina placed her age somewhere between thirty and forty years, but with the melding taking hold, it was difficult to be sure. There was a maturity, a wisdom about her that a younger woman would not have possessed. “She is special.” Elaina felt the swell of love and pride from him and patted his bare chest, broad and hairy. Sensing Henley’s feelings, Elsa glanced over and smiled warmly, including Elaina. Elaina returned the smile with as much warmth before Elsa brought her attention back to the circle. Sorla was telling a story now, her statuesque, straight-backed form a head taller than anyone else. Elaina remained nestled in against Henley, content to keep watching and listening.

The night wore on, the wine flowed, and inevitably, the air in the tent grew heavy with anticipation. It had been long since they’d all been together. At that point, Elaina rose and chased out the par’vala, sending them off to bed; there was no point teasing them with what they couldn’t have yet. They left somewhat reluctantly - especially Mikel, who raked his eyes over the women one last time before slipping out - leaving Elaina and Henley with the meldin and the aronduri. They all watched her expectantly as she stood before them. “Tomorrow will be upon us in a matter of hours,” she said gravely, pulling on the sash of her vaima. Gods, but she wanted tonight to last forever. “And I know no other way, no other people with which I’d like to spend those hours.” She felt their eyes on her as she let the robe fall.

In silence, the others looked to her, then one another. Henley joined the circle, then Elaina, and then she was lost in a sea of hands and lips and warm skin. She couldn’t make it last forever, but this would do.

Amina stopped at the bottom of a shallow valley between two grassy crests, where the knee-high grass of the plain had been flattened and scattered with bellpear flowers, their distinct, sweet scent heavy in the air. The moonlight illuminated flat white stones that formed a wide circle on the grass. More of the same stones made three equidistant lines inside the circle that met in the direct centre. This place had been prepared in advance.

“What is this, Priestess?” Andil asked slowly as he approached the border of the circle of stones. He squatted smoothly, careful not to disturb the arrangement. “I sense ... something, though I do not know what.”

Andil’s wife, Elessir, as beautiful as he was handsome, joined her husband, her flowing golden hair brushing the ground where she knelt. Like him, she was garbed only in winding red-and-gold vines that appeared to have grown on her. “I know these flowers,” she chimed in crystalline tones. “They have powerful properties.” She picked up one of the flowers outside the ring of stones. “You are holding a ceremony, Priestess.” Her brilliant emerald eyes found Amina’s.

“I am not,” Amina replied, shrugging her cloak from her shoulders. The cool night air caressed her bare skin. “We are.” The gruff clearing of throats behind her made her turn to regard the three Dwarves outside the circle. Baelin and Fathvir seemed torn between wanting to look at her and turning away out of courtesy, while Finya seemed much more comfortable, openly looking Amina up and down. Finya, at least, had had experience with arohim. The shorter woman muttered something in Dwarvish, but Amina didn’t catch it.

“I apologise for the abruptness,” Amina began, stepping into the circle and taking the space furthest away before turning back to face the others. “But time is short.” She gestured to the two remaining spaces. “Please.”

“What is this?” Baelin asked hesitantly, his wizened face concerned.

“I think,” Finya said slowly, stepping closer to the circle, “this is very important, Captain-General.”

“It very much is,” Amina confirmed. “But you must choose for yourselves. I will not try and force you to this.” As she spoke, Andil and Elessir exchanged a few close words in Elvish. She touched his face, and he nodded. They faced the circle together as the vines unwound from their bodies, leaving them as bare as Amina. They took the space to Amina’s right, leaving the last one for the Dwarves. Baelin frowned at Amina, or rather in her direction; he was staring inwardly, his thick eyebrows drawn down, his sturdy arms folded over his gleaming breastplate. Fathvir glared darkly at the Elves, though he corrected quickly, smoothing his features. Old hates were fading, yet when you had hated something for so long, it was hard to expunge it without time to heal. Amina doubted he was aware of the way his hand kept straying to the hilt of the mace at his belt before jerking away. He muttered a string of Dwarvish under his breath but made no move to leave. Finya, sturdily handsome and clever-eyed, appeared ready to join the circle, though she looked to Baelin, watching for his answer.

Finally, he looked to his fellow Dwarves. “Aevi of einn skipta,” he said to them as he began unbuckling the straps of his armour. Finya smiled broadly and began to do the same, while Fathvir nodded solemnly setting about removing his armour as if he were simply performing a job required of him. Amina was glad he was not the one leading the Dwarves. His loyalty to Baelin and to his people would hold him true, at least for now.

A minute later, the Dwarves joined Amina and the Elves in the circle, occupying their own segment. “Long ago,” she began, taking them all in with her gaze, “this ceremony was performed by the leaders of the Seven Peoples. Tonight, we are the ones who are here, the ones who are committed to a better world, to fighting back the darkness that sweeps our lands and our hearts.” Looking to her right, she addressed Andil and Elessir. “For what do you enter this circle, Andil Eryn’elda, Elessir Eryn’elda?”

“To recover what was lost,” Andil replied in his bass voice. “For hope.”

“To grow something new and strong,” Elessir answered with a smile. “To see our people flourish.”