Rise Of Empire (81 page)

A few eyes turned appraisingly toward the shops, where dozens of colorful signboards advertised in a foreign tongue. Music played—strange twanging strings and warbling pipes. Hadrian could smell lamb spiced with curry, a popular dish as he recalled.

“We will leave immediately,” Wesley replied, louder than was necessary for merely Dilladrum to hear him.

“Suit yourself, good sir.” The guide shrugged sadly. He made a gesture to his Vintu workers and the little men used long switches and yelping cries to urge the animals of the caravan forward.

As they did, one spotted Hadrian and paused in his work. His brows furrowed as he stared intently until a shout from Dilladrum sent him back to herding.

“What was that all about?” Royce asked. Hadrian shrugged, but Royce looked unconvinced. “You were here for what—five years? Anything happen? Anything you want to share?”

“Sure,” he replied with a sarcastic grin. “Right after you fill me in on how you escaped from Manzant Prison and why you never killed Ambrose Moor.”

“Sorry I asked.”

“I was young and stupid,” Hadrian offered. “But I can tell you that Wesley is right about the jungle being dangerous. We’ll want to watch ourselves around Gile.”

“You met him?”

Hadrian nodded. “I’ve met most of the warlords of the Gur Em, but I’m sure everyone’s forgotten me by now.”

As if overhearing, the train worker glanced over his shoulder at Hadrian once more.

“Everywhere landward from Dagastan is uphill,” Dilladrum was saying as the troop walked along the narrow dirt path through farmlands dotted by domed grass huts. “That is the way of the world everywhere, is it not? From the sea, we always need to go up. It makes the leaving that much harder, but the returning that much more welcome.”

They walked two abreast, with Wesley and Dilladrum, Wyatt and Poe, Royce and Hadrian in front while Thranic’s group followed behind the Vintu and the beasts. Having Thranic and his crew behind them was disconcerting, but it was better than walking with them. Dilladrum set a brisk pace for a portly little man, stepping lively and thrusting his bleached walking stick out with practiced skill. He bent the brim down on his otherwise shapeless hat to block the sun, making him look comical even while Hadrian wished he had a silly-looking hat of his own.

“Mr. Dilladrum, what exactly are your instructions concerning us?” Wesley inquired.

“I am contracted to safely deliver officers, cargo, and crew of the
Emerald Storm
to the Palace of the Four Winds in Dur Guron.”

“Is that the residence of Erandabon Gile?”

“Ah yes, the fortress of the Panther of Dur Guron.”

“Panther?” Wyatt asked.

Dilladrum chuckled. “It’s what the Vintu call the warlord. They’re a very simple folk, but very hard workers, as you can see. The Panther is a legend among them.”

“A hero?” Wesley offered.

“A panther is not a hero to anyone. A panther is a great cat that hides himself in the jungle. He’s a ghost to those who seek him, deadly to those he hunts, but to those he doesn’t, he’s merely a creature deserving of respect. The Panther does not concern himself with the Vintu, but stories of his valor, cruelty, and cunning reach them.”

“You are not Vintu?”

“No. I’m Erbonese. Erbon is a region to the northwest, not far from Mandalin.”

“And the Tenkin?” Wesley asked. “Is the warlord one of them?”

Dilladrum’s expression turned dark. “Yes, yes. The Tenkin are everywhere in these jungles.” He pointed to the horizon ahead of them. “Some tribes are more welcoming than others. Not to worry, my Vintu and I know a good route. We’ll pass through one Tenkin village, but they’re friendly and familiar to us, like the one you call Staul, yes? We’ll make it safely.”

As they climbed higher, they entered a great plain of tall grass that swayed enchantingly with the breeze. Climbing a large rock, they could see for miles in all directions except ahead, where a tall, forested ridge rose several hundred feet. They made camp just before sundown. Hardly a word passed between Dilladrum and the Vintu, but they immediately went to work setting up decorative tents with embroidered geometric designs and neatly bordered canopies. Cots and small stools were put out for each, along with sheets and pillows.

Cooked in large pots over an open fire, the evening meal was strong and spicy enough to make Hadrian’s eyes water. He found it tasty and satisfying after weeks of eating the same tired pork stew. The Vintu took turns entertaining. Some played stringed instruments similar to a lute, others danced, and a few sang lilting ballads. The words Hadrian could not understand, but the melody was beautiful. Animal calls filled
the night. Screeches, cries, and growls threatened in the darkness, always too loud and too close.

On their third day out, the landscape began to change. The level plains tilted upward and trees appeared more frequently. The forests that had lined the distance were upon them, and soon they were trudging under a canopy of tall trees whose massive roots spread out across the forest floor like the fingers of old men. At first it was good to be out of the sun, but then the path became rocky, steep, and hard to navigate. It did not last long, as they soon crested a ridge and began a sharp descent. On the far side of the ridge, they could see a distinct change in the flora. The undergrowth thickened, turning a deeper green. Larger leaves, vines, thickets of creepers, and needle-shaped blades encroached on the track, causing the Vintu to occasionally move ahead to chop a path.

The next day it began to rain, and while at times it poured and at others it only misted, it never ceased.

“They always seem content, don’t they?” Hadrian mentioned to Royce as they sat under the canopy of their tent watching the Vintu preparing the evening meal. “It could be blazingly hot or raining like now, and they don’t seem to care one way or the other.”

“Are you now saying we should become Vintu?” Royce asked. “I don’t think you can just apply for membership into their tribe. I think you need to be born into it.”

“What’s that?” Wyatt asked, coming out of the tent the three shared, wiping his freshly shaved face with a cloth.

“Just thinking about the Vintu and living a simple existence of quiet pleasures,” Hadrian explained.

“What makes you think they’re content?” Royce asked.
“I’ve found that when people smile all the time, they’re hiding something. These Vintu are probably miserable—economically forced into relative slavery, catering to wealthy foreigners. I’m sure they would smile just as much while slitting our throats to save themselves another day of hauling Dilladrum’s packs.”

“I think you’ve been away from Gwen too long. You’re starting to sound like the
old Royce
again.”

Across the camp they spotted Staul, Thranic, and Defoe. Staul waved in their direction and grinned.

“See? Big grin,” Royce mentioned.

“Fun group, eh?” Hadrian muttered.

“Yeah, they are a group, aren’t they?” Royce nodded thoughtfully. “Why would a sentinel, a Tenkin warrior, a physician, a thief, and … whatever the heck Bulard is go into the jungles of Calis to visit a Tenkin warlord? And what’s Bulard’s deal?”

Wyatt and Hadrian shrugged in unison.

“Isn’t that a bit odd? We were all on the same ship together for weeks, and we don’t know anything about the man beyond the fact that he doesn’t look like he’s seen the sun in a decade. Perhaps if we found out, it would provide the common connection between the others and this Erandabon fellow.”

“Bernie and Bulard share a tent,” Hadrian pointed out.

“Hadrian, why don’t you go chat with Bulard?” Royce said. “I’ll distract Bernie.”

“What about me?” Wyatt asked.

“Talk with Derning and Grady. They don’t seem as connected to the others as I first thought. Find out why they volunteered.”

The Vintu handed out dinner, which the
Storm’s
crew ate sitting on stools the Vintu provided. Dinner consisted mostly of what appeared to be shredded pork and an array of unusual vegetables in a thick, hot sauce that needled the tongue.

After the meal, darkness descended on the camp and most retired to their tents. Antun Bulard was already in his, just like he always stayed in his cabin aboard ship. The light in Bulard and Bernie’s tent flickered and the silhouettes of their heads bobbed about, magnified on the canvas walls. A few hours after dark, Bernie stepped out. An instant later, Royce swooped in.

“How you been,
Bernie?”
Royce greeted him. “Going for a walk?”

“Actually, I was about to find a place to relieve myself.”

“Good, I’ll go with you.”

“Go with me?” he asked nervously.

“I’ve been known to help people relieve themselves of a great many things.” Royce put an arm around Bernie’s shoulder as he urged him away from the tents. Once more Bernie flinched. “A little jumpy, aren’t we?” Royce asked.

“Don’t you think I have good reason?”

Royce smiled and nodded. “You have me there. I honestly still can’t figure out what you were thinking.”

The two were outside the circle of tents, well beyond the glow of the campfire, and still Royce urged him farther away.

“It wasn’t my idea. I was just following orders. Don’t you think I’d know better than to—”

“Whose idea was it?”

Bernie hesitated only a moment. “Thranic,” he said, then hastily added, “but he just wanted you bloodied. Not dead, just cut.”

“Why?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

They stopped in a dark circle of trees. Night frogs croaked
hesitantly, concerned by their presence. The camp was only a distant glow.

“Care to tell me what all of you are doing here?”

Bernie frowned. “You know I won’t, even to save my life. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

“But you told me about Thranic.”

“I don’t like Thranic.”

“So he’s not the one you’re afraid of. Is it Merrick?”

“Merrick?” Bernie looked genuinely puzzled. “Listen, I never faulted you for Jade’s death or the war you waged on the Diamond. Merrick should have never betrayed you like that, not without first hearing your side of it.”

Royce took a step forward. In the darkness of the canopy, he was certain Bernie could barely see him. Royce, on the other hand, could make out every line on Bernie’s face. “What’s Merrick’s plan?”