Chapter 2
It took upwards of a week of travel on foot just to make it back to the border of Kulthene and the Sovereign Cities. They could have journeyed together as they were headed in the same direction, at least until they crossed into the Djudeni desert. But the members of the Bloody Murder, while a singular cabal of assassins, were a solitary bunch. And so they went their separate ways following their brief conversation.
Ironically, the speed of his travel increased dramatically once he hit the open desert. He was a child of the desert Sovereign Cities of Djuden, more comfortable with the shifting sands and relentless sun than any other type of terrain.
Add to that, the cultural nuances of being amongst his own peoples, and by the end of the first night of travel he’d purchased a camel from a herder just off the trader track, and that was after spending a full two bells haggling with the desert shepherds. Coin was never an issue for a member of the Bloody Murder. But haggling both ways was part of honest business with the shepherds. The troop might not have done business with him at all had he went with their initial over-inflated price.
By the end of the second night of travel, just before the coming of dawn’s merciless heat, he’d joined up with the first of the many trade caravans he knew he’d come across on the well-used path. This was perhaps the most troublesome part of the trip. A lone traveler on the open desert was better than a roving band, but was still met with open suspicion. Good coin would always purchase passage in sufficient quantities, but even with his generous offer, the troop nearly turned him away.
Raven couldn’t blame them. The loan traveler was just as likely to steal their wares or lead them into an ambush. Lucky for them, he was no thief or bandit scout. And, perhaps most important for them, he was no murderer. A killer? Yes, he would own that title. There was a distinct difference, but few outside his given profession recognized the difference between the two, so he didn’t volunteer the information. His leather vest, which was lined on either side by a long row of sheathed throwing knives that ran from his trapezius down to his waist, he had turned inside out and wore like a normal article of clothing. One of the long fighting knives he kept sheathed on his waist. After all, a man completely unarmed crossing the desert would appear just as suspicious as his full arsenal on display. His other long knife, he slipped into a concealed sheath along the side of his calf. As for his alchemical bandoleer, well, he carried that strapped across his chest like normal. It was unassuming enough, looking outwardly like nothing more than a brown canvas satchel.
Another generous offering of coin earned him two full bladders of water, several strips of dried meat, and a thin linen blanket the same color as the desert sands, all of which he tied to his camel. The dried meat was more emergency provisions. For regular meals, more coin secured him a portion of food for each meal.
By the time the sun fully crested the horizon and they were all lying within the large tent, Raven was fully stocked and provisioned for the rest of his journey to Bhadestan.
Raven rode with the caravan for another two nights, simply for the provisions. But as they broke camp at dusk on the third night, Raven knew he had traveled with them as far as he could. And so he maintained his due west trajectory, while they moved a more northwestern angle, towards the Sovereign City of Djuden.
It was three more nights of travel and digging shallow trenches in the sand to sleep through the stifling days. It was on that last night, just before stopping to dig his trench for the day, that he saw the sprawling city of Bhadestan stretched across the western horizon.
He quieted that mental urge to gallop the six or seven bells to reach the city that day. That was how many desert crossings ended in disaster, being so close to the final destination. Instead, he contented himself with arriving in the dead of night.
He completed the last of his shallow trench just as the fifth bell—the dawn bell—tolled five times over the rolling expanse of the desert. He lowered himself into the trench, spread the covering over himself, and was asleep nearly as soon as he settled into the trench.
* * *
It was still a few bells before midnight when Raven crossed into one of Bhadestan’s outer-most district. Uniquely designed amongst the Sovereign Cities, Bhadestan was split into three massive sections laid out as a large circular rings. The outer tier, often called the outer ring, was filled with squat, tawny structures made of hardened clay. They were a mix of ancient and new structures. The oldest dated back to before the fracturing of the former desert empire of Djudenebhad, while the newest still had the scaffolding of construction erected across the facade. Old or new, the haphazard mix of dwellings and minor shops were made with the same time-honored tradition that merged artisanship with high alchemy.
The outer-ring was home to almost three quarters of the city’s population, all of them impoverished. A mix of desperation and overcrowded districts created the conditions that earned Bhadestan the name it went by throughout the Sovereign Cities—The Bad Lands.
Hard stares tracked Raven’s path as he walked his sturdy camel deeper into the city. He ignored the hawkers and peddlers beckoning him toward the sides of buildings or the back ends of loaded carts. Even if they were not outright trying to scam or jump him, the prices right at the edge of the open desert took full advantage of the weary traveler returning from a long desert crossing.
Halfway down the wide avenue, a trio of people spilled out from around the far corner. It was three men running at a full sprint. Two uniformed corpsmen chased a tall, gaunt man in ragged clothes. Both corpsmen leapt onto the man, tackling him face-down to the packed dirt and gravel. The man tried pleading his innocence as he desperately fought to extricate himself, but the corpsmen moved with practiced efficiency, one straddling his legs and wrenching one of his arms behind his back while the other beat him with a short hide-wrapped cudgel.
Anywhere else, such a scene would cause a crowd of the curious or concerned. But in Bhadestan’s outer ring, people hurried away and actively avoided looking at the scene. It was best to stay clear of the corpsmen at all times, but that was especially true when their blood was up.
By the time Raven made it to the end of the block and skirted his camel around the trio, the man had his hands bound behind his back, completely subdued, and both corpsmen were laying into his back, arms, and legs with their cudgels.
Raven breathed through a spike of familiar emotions that lasted until he could no longer hear either the sounds of the man’s beatings or his soft moans. In just a few moments of arriving back in the city, he had already experienced much of what he had disdained about his hometown. Violence, desperate people, the heavy hand of authority, all made Bhadestan unbearable. It was for those reasons that Raven only returned to the city on the rare times Carrion called him there instead of the Bloody Murder’s desert outpost, known amongst the cabal of assassins as The Roost.
But there were other hazards in the outer-ring districts, and he needed to refocus on the present moment. Already he seemed to be the focus of every hardened group of toughs he passed as he made his way deeper into the city. It was for this reason that Raven slipped his second fighting knife back onto his hip and carried both clearly visible, showing everyone he had the means to defend himself.
As an added deterrent, he shrugged off the covering he used to protect his otherwise exposed upper body from the harsh desert sun during his desert crossing. Beneath it he wore only his vest and bandoleer strapped across his chest, leaving his well muscled and defined physique clearly visible. The people of the outer districts were desperate, yes, but not reckless. They wouldn’t risk a direct conflict with what they perceived to be a hardened target.
The one thing he didn’t do, however, was turn his vest back over and display his brace of throwing knives. Doing so would likely mark him as an assassin. Warriors and fighters were tolerated by the people of Bhadestan. Admired, even. An assassin would surely earn him a quarrel in the back before he made it through the outer ring.
And there were plenty of places a person might take aim at him, considering the only regular lights in the outer ring districts were large alchemical lamps set on opposite sides of the wide avenues. Like Raven, residents avoided traversing Bhadestan, or any of the Sovereign Cities, under the oppressive heat of the Djudeni sun from mid-morning to dusk. The result was people traveled during the times where deep shadows filled every nook and alley between the clay tenement buildings.
It wasn’t a question of if there were threats lurking in the darkness. There were. In Raven’s youth, he used to be one. The trick was striking a balance; not present a temping target for those threats waiting, but more important, not appearing an unfamiliar threat moving through the district. And an assassin of the Bloody Murder would place Raven firmly in the latter group.
Thankfully, nothing slowed his progress as he moved district by district toward the center of the city. The transition from outer-ring to middle tier district was both abrupt and distinct. The wide avenue circled the entire city. Peacemen heavily patrolled the expansive street, more than was anywhere else in the city. It was a uniformed presence that sent a message to the denizens of the outer ring. The peace corps allowed entry, because where else would the servant class come from? But the militant officers closely monitored the privileged districts; Any transgression would receive sharp retribution.
Raven crossed into the middle ring without incident. The contrast in architecture was sharp. Buildings grew large and diverse, displaying the robust building designs the Sovereign Cities were famous for. The glorified clay huts for both businesses and residences were gone. In their place, the central ring residences were large five and six floor tenement buildings that dominated entire city blocks. Each floor was home to a single wealthy individual.
The businesses saw similar transformations. Proper establishments, as fine and opulent as any in either the Sovereign Cities or lavishly wealthy Kulthene lands east of the Djudeni desert. Some businesses were beyond the means of even the wealthier middle tier residents, catering only to the city’s most exclusive inner sphere residents.
For Raven, though, who had only ever returned to Bhadestan on the rare summons, let alone ventured deep into the central districts of the city, the most jarring change was always the lights. The alchemical lamps were set in far closer intervals, and each sat upon intricately carved poles. Even the spaces between the buildings were well illuminated thanks to strips of alchemical light set into the facade of the buildings themselves that gave off just enough radiance to fill any shadows.
Despite the easier passage, the streets of the middle tier were mostly empty. After all, anyone with enough money to own property in the central tier didn’t live in Bhadestan full time. These wealthier Bhadestanis only came to check on their various interests, sometimes business, but mostly political, and then all but fled to the far more hospitable Djuden City. This made passage through the comparatively smaller districts much faster. And in less than half a bell, he came to the final transition, into the city’s inner sphere.
There were no additional patrols or checkpoints to mark the transition. The single indicator he had crossed into the inner most district was the towering structures that rose high into the ochre-tinged sky, each one distinctly different from the other. In less than a quarter bell, he had reached his destination—a tall residential tower that stood rather modest against the gaudy surrounding structures. The residence was beautiful, to be sure, made of pure marbled granite with ornamented windows framed by intricate patterns of brushed silver. The outer walls of the building were smooth, a detail of a particular note for Raven, and stretched a modest five floors into the air. The rest of the structure’s impressive external height was a spacious dome topped by a long needle that rose high into the sky.
Raven dismounted and tied the camel off on the empty hitching post, then walked straight through the high arched single door. A pair of uniformed corpsmen just inside the entrance turned to him before he managed a second step. The pair stood on either side of the double wooden doors that lead into the main hall. The uniformed woman to his left—a tough-looking veteran with a rope of some rank Raven didn’t bother to memorize corded around her right shoulder—raised a hand for him to halt.
“You’re a long way from the outer ring.”
Raven shrugged. “I suppose I am.”
The woman’s expression darkened. “Do you have a problem?”
Raven shrugged again, this time with a clear exaggerated affect. “You tell me. You’re the one blocking my way.”
A flash of annoyance touched the woman’s features, but just for a moment. She crossed her arms. “What do you want?”
“I want to go about my business, obviously, but once again, you’re blocking my damn way.”
“And what business do you have here, tough guy?”
“None that you need to mind.”
The officer seemed to reach the end of her patience. She took a step forward, and then the doors behind her yawned open in a loud groan that reverberated throughout the small antechamber, turning every head around.
A tall, lean man in a flowing green ankle-length robe came into view with one arm cradled under a thick roll of parchment. Raven’s expression darkened at the sight of the man in the robes of the residential caretaker—a man he didn’t recognize. The stranger, his expression mirroring Raven’s suspicion, paused and eyed Raven, then cleared his throat and gestured with his free hand for the two officers to step aside.
The senior officer cut a brief glance to her partner, who stood with the same stupid glare on his face that he had when Raven first walked in, then turned her glare to Raven. “This…man is allowed inside to High Senator Gobudan?”
“Indeed,” snapped the lithe man, “invited by the High Senator directly, in fact. His Excellence has impatiently awaited his guest’s arrival. Best not delay him any longer.”
The senior officer glared daggers at Raven, but both stepped aside and allowed Raven entry into the main hall. As the man in green pulled the heavy doors closed behind him, Raven continued on toward the grand staircase at the far end of the hall. He knew where Carrion would be waiting.
The doors thudded shut behind him, one and then the other, and then Raven heard the slippered feet of the man in green hurry to catch up to him.
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