Seeds of Rebellion (58 page)

Ever since the drinlings had stopped fighting the emperor, the
Kadarians had shown no love for them. But the Kadarian ships the delegation had encountered only made token efforts to harass them. Evidently the Kadarians had bigger problems on their hands.

Now, for the first time in five days, the prow of the boat turned diagonally toward the shoreline. Tark joined Jason, hairy forearms resting on the gunwale. “Back to land,” he said in his gravelly voice. “No more fish.”

“I had no idea you were such a fisherman,” Jason remarked, glancing down at his friend. “You caught twice as many as anyone aboard.”

“I worked the sea for a time,” Tark answered simply.

“What haven’t you done?” Jason asked. “You were a fisherman, a diver, a miner, a musician. What am I missing?”

“Cook,” Tark said. “Soldier. Tradesman. Hedonist. Traitor. Those are the main ones.”

“You need to go easier on yourself,” Jason said.

“I’ve gone plenty easy often enough,” Tark replied. “I appreciate the sentiment, Lord Jason, but I’ll decide when my penance is done for turning my back on good causes. I’ve got too many comrades reprimanding me from their watery graves.”

“What do you think we’ll find back on land?” Jason asked.

“Nothing so terrible as what we faced in the Forsaken Kingdom, I hope,” Tark said, hawking up phlegm and spitting over the side. “That business was the worst I ever want to see.”

“I hear you,” Jason agreed. “Thanks for watching my back through all of that.”

“Thank Rachel,” Tark said.

“Good point.”

“I wouldn’t mind some bread,” Tark mused. “Been some time since we had any bread. We were spoiled in the Vales.”

“Will the Last Inn have good food?” Jason asked.

Tark rubbed his hands together. “Don’t torture me. I’ve never made it there, but the Last Inn has a reputation that spans Lyrian. That doesn’t happen without desirable fare.”

“How far from the Durnese River to the inn?”

“Just a day or two on foot, according to Raz.”

“Think Galloran will be there?”

“Hard thing to guess. I sure hope so. He’s had some time. Thanks to the speed of this ship, we’ll arrive more or less on schedule.”

Under the cover of darkness, the longboat entered the wide, slow Durnese River. Jason swatted at biting insects as he watched the banks glide by, grateful to be in motion without any personal effort. To either side of the vessel, beyond the flat water, bobbing fireflies twinkled amid ferny shrubs. The lukewarm air tasted humid, as if poised to condense into a rain cloud all around him, although the starry sky above was mostly clear.

At length, the longboat ran aground against a level bank of firm mud interspersed with puddles. Raz and other drinlings helped the delegation disembark. After nearly a week of backbreaking labor, the drinling rowers had swelled up like bodybuilders.

Without ceremony, Raz aided the drinlings as they shoved the longboat back into the water. The few vessels secreted near the Silver River were among the drinlings’ favorite assets, and the experienced crew wanted to reach the safety of the open sea by sunrise.

“This nearest of river to Last Inn,” Raz explained in uncertain English. “We have fresh legs. We walk.”

So Jason, Rachel, Farfalee, Nollin, Kerick, Drake, Ferrin, Tark, Nedwin, Aram, Nia, Io, and Raz hiked away from the river and soon came to a road. Aram cradled Corinne in his strong arms, as she remained too nauseated to walk. He seemed relieved to be
on dry land. The half giant had patiently endured growing and shrinking aboard the longboat for all to see.

“This is a remote corner of Lyrian,” Ferrin said, falling into step beside Jason. “I’ve only made it this way once, and then simply out of curiosity.”

“You’ve been to the Last Inn?” Jason asked.

Ferrin nodded. “A massive structure. Maldor technically occupies this part of Lyrian, the former kingdoms of Durna and Hintop. But the area is sparsely populated, and since the emperor has not yet elected to engage any of the settlements within the southern jungle, little heed is paid to this southeastern portion of the continent.”

“How far is the Temple of Mianamon into the jungle?” Jason asked.

“Far enough to keep the emperor away for now,” Ferrin replied. “I’ve never entered the jungle. I’m not sure Lyrian has more perilous terrain. Forget the venomous snakes, poisonous plants, deadly insects, and impenetrable foliage. The wizard Certius left behind some ferocious races that Maldor has opted to leave unchallenged.”

“Certius was part of the big war with Zokar and Eldrin,” Jason said, remembering his lessons in history from the Repository of Learning.

“Good memory,” Ferrin said. “Zokar attacked Certius first, and suffered horrible losses to gain victory. Certius was killed, his races scattered, but the forces of Zokar never recovered sufficiently to stand up to Eldrin. None really know how much the races of Certius have recuperated. Certius and his creations never showed interest in venturing beyond the jungle. Historians believe that Zokar lost the war by engaging Certius prematurely. Had Zokar initially bested Eldrin instead, strategists argue he could have rebuilt his forces at his leisure before attacking Certius. Maldor
participated in that conflict, and is a devoted student of history.”

“So you think Maldor will leave the southern jungle alone?” Jason asked.

“From what I’ve managed to gather, I believe the southern jungle is Maldor’s last priority, even after the Seven Vales. Which is why I never went there. The region was not particularly relevant, and unquestionably dangerous.”

“But some people visit the Temple of Mianamon,” Jason said. “Galloran went there.”

Ferrin nodded. “Formerly, many pilgrims went to Mianamon for advice from the oracles. A wide, stone road cut through the jungle, and the inhabitants of Mianamon welcomed visitors. The Last Inn thrived in those days.

“After the war with Zokar, none went to Mianamon for years. Word had it that the oracles had dwindled in number and in power. The jungle reclaimed the road. Only a few intrepid explorers, like Galloran, have ventured there since. The Last Inn became a curiosity mostly frequented by locals rather than the gateway to a mysterious society.”

“Well, you’ll finally get to see the jungle,” Jason said.

Ferrin rolled his eyes. “If I stick with you, there won’t be a deadly destination in Lyrian without my footprints.”

By sunrise, Corinne was able to walk. Raz kept them moving at a brisk pace. To amuse himself, Jason invented a game called Will Nia Eat It? The answer to the question was typically yes. She generally said no only to stone and metal. Mud, bugs, rags, leaves, rope, leather, dead mice, pinecones, hair, and thorny stems were all proven edible.

The Last Inn came into sight just after sundown, situated by a crossroads outside the palisade of a modest village. Portions of the sprawling inn reached five stories tall. Built of wood and stone,
the huge structure featured endless gables and turrets, united by swooping sections of roof that came together at unusual angles. Plentiful balconies and rooftop terraces added layers to the rambling inn, and a variety of chimney pots, cupolas, and weather vanes provided character. Large stables adjoined one side of the building, next to a working smithy.

“Looks like you could fit more people in the inn than the village,” Corinne said in wonder.

“Once, you certainly could,” Farfalee said. “Now much of the inn is permanently vacant. The Last Inn has been owned by the same family for generations. During the good years, they put much of their income toward adding to it.”

They entered the common room through a great set of double doors. The cavernous space was three stories high, with thick rafters and an assortment of magnificent trophy heads on the walls. Fires blazed in multiple hearths. Dozens of patrons sat at long tables, dining on a variety of fragrant foods, yet the room was barely filled to a quarter of its capacity. A long marble bar against one wall blocked access to the two largest mirrors Jason had ever seen, set inside elaborate frames. A thin man in the corner sawed at his fiddle, to the approval of those seated nearby.

Jason smiled. Despite the exaggerated size, the room felt warm and lively, and the prospect of hot food boosted his spirits. Several curious heads turned as the delegation entered, and a stout woman in a frilly white cap approached hurriedly, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Welcome, travelers,” she gushed. “I’m Angela; call me Angie. I don’t believe I’ve seen many of these faces before! Welcome, leave your cares at the door, and come inside for food and drink! Do you have horses?”

“No horses,” Nedwin said. “We were told to ask for Clayton.”

Her face fell. “Clayton, the owner, of course. I’m sorry you missed him. He rarely ventures abroad, but he is gone for the next several days. Many apologies if you are friends of his.”

“You have rooms?” Farfalee asked.

“Rooms? We have more rooms than we know what to do with!”

“We’d like to stay together,” Nedwin said.

“Easily arranged,” she replied cheerily.

“Has anyone asked after a group from the north,” Farfalee wondered. “Perhaps a blind traveler?”

Angie scowled and placed her hands on her hips. “Travelers we still get, but no blind ones of late. From the north, you say? I’ll keep vigilant.”

Jason let his attention wander from the conversation as Farfalee and Nedwin discussed the arrangements. They had brought plenty of money from the Seven Vales, so cost would not be an issue. They had planned to be ready to completely outfit themselves here if necessary before heading into the jungle.

“Big inn,” Rachel commented beside Jason.

“Congratulations,” he replied. “You just won the understatement award.”

“Think about it from the outside,” Rachel said. “It covers more ground than a city block.”

He leaned close to her. “I hope they use a lot of chlorine in the pool. Have you looked around? Some of these other customers don’t look very sanitary.”

She swatted him with the back of her hand. “It’s just nice to see people. Normal people having a good time.”

“You’ll take that over dead people trying to eat us?”

“Just this once.”

The delegation sat together along opposing benches at a long table. A parade of toasty, wholesome food kept them busy. Nothing
seemed particularly fancy, but everything tasted hearty and good. Tark saluted Jason with a dark hunk of bread slathered with melting butter. Even Corinne managed to eat with enthusiasm.

The weight of the meal magnified Jason’s weariness exponentially. He could hardly drag himself up the stairs with the others when the time came. He ended up sharing a room with Nedwin and Ferrin, and hastily claimed one of the three cots by flopping down unceremoniously.

The room was a bit cramped, but clean and solid, with a single window looking out at a slanted section of roof. The simple cot felt heavenly after days of sleeping on the ground or huddled on the creaking boards of a longboat. Stomach full, muscles weary, he contentedly settled in for a delicious slumber. He felt truly happy and comfortable for the first time in weeks.

In retrospect, he probably should have guessed it was a trap.

The soldiers burst into his room at dawn. Jason barely had time to awaken before he was flung to the floor beside Ferrin. He felt cheated of any opportunity to react as the sole of a boot pressed his head against the floorboards and a heavy knee weighed on his back. Within moments, biting cords bound his wrists together.

As Jason staggered to his feet with help from a conscriptor, he noticed that Nedwin was gone. The cot beside the window had no bedding on it. He deliberately avoided staring at the inexplicably empty cot. While other soldiers continued to bind Ferrin, the conscriptor brusquely steered Jason out into the hallway, where other soldiers awaited.

Two doors down, Raz burst from a room, the spike at the end of his arm buried in a soldier. Other soldiers mobbed the scarred warrior. With swift, lethal movements, Raz slashed open another soldier, and a third, before succumbing to multiple stab wounds.
The soldiers brutally made sure that Raz would never rise again.

“Move,” the conscriptor growled at Jason, tugging him toward the stairs. Kerick lay on his side in the hall, body pierced by arrows, an empty socket gaping at the base of his skull. Jason stumbled along on numb feet, shocked to see other members of the delegation being escorted from their rooms, hands bound behind their backs. Nollin. Tark. Tiny Aram. Had the soldiers moved in before daybreak, they would have had a much different Aram to deal with. Perhaps they had known that.

The conscriptor manhandled Jason down the stairs to the huge common room, which stood empty now except for uniformed soldiers. Dozens of them. Too many.

Jason knelt between Nollin and Drake. He watched Corinne being led down the stairs, then Io, then Farfalee. Rachel entered the room gagged. Ferrin had to be carried because he had been bound inside of a sack that covered all but his head.

Jason tried to make sense of Nedwin’s absence. Why was his bedding gone? Had he slipped out much earlier? Did he get away, or had he been the traitor?

After the entire delegation—minus Kerick, Nedwin, and Raz—had been assembled on the common room floor, kneeling in two rows, Duke Conrad entered the room. Jason felt an instant jolt of recognition and surprise. He looked much like Jason remembered him from Harthenham, except his prominent nose had clearly been reset imperfectly after Jason had broken it, and he was perhaps a tad leaner. Otherwise his skin was deeply tanned, his posture erect, his hair slicked back, his princely uniform impeccable, boots polished, medals gleaming. He wore a controlled expression of bemused disdain, as if this moment had been inevitable, and he was quietly pleased to watch his enemies arriving at that realization.