Covering Our Tracks
WHEN THE ESCAPEES are all aboard, Njitra casts off from the steep bank and another masked Lakshari – presumably Chandur – rows them out calmly but strongly into the sluggish current. Njitra hands the party members muted brown cloaks and masks to cover their pallor and their wounds. Carwyn does her best to comfort Hamber, whose initial wailing turned to terrified silence as the guards were killed around him. Tarai looks up at Rian, eyes wide, and says, “Men go?”
“The men won’t find us,” Rian responds wearily, not sure whether the little boy is asking about the guards who died or the ones who remain. “We’re safe now.”
“Ri hurt,” Tarai says, pointing to the blood on her face. His translucent features are screwed up in an expression of concern as he pats her cheek.
Rian unexpectedly finds herself remembering her beloved little brother Asiran and closes her eyes. “Shh, now, little one. I’m all right. I’ll keep you safe.”
Even in the small hours of the morning, the Shanyang River is far from empty. Just upriver from the tumultuous tidal wedge, dozens of fishing boats lie at anchor, their crews dozing before the pre-dawn catch. With Chandur at the oars and Njitra at the rudder, their craft weaves deftly through the maze of little boats and heads for the fishing dockyards. Njitra is uneasily watching the skies, and has one hand clasped tightly around an amulet on his neck.
They land on a small, ramshackle dock below the ruins of the Sufza qohei. As the party disembarks, Chandur uncorks a jar, drops a lump of greyish-white salt into the boat, and splashes water onto it. The Northerners jump as the siseo laou smokes and hisses to life, eating swiftly through the hull. Black river water gushes up into the boat and Njitra kicks it back into the current; it is already half submerged as the party strides briskly up into the dark alleys of Tziwan.
TWICE NJITRA GUIDES them into abandoned hovels, where he produces a glowing, reddish powder from a pouch at his belt and sprinkles it liberally over all the party members. Little Tarai stares in mute wonder at the tiny embers drifting around him. “It’s like pepper for dogs,” Chandur explains through his mask. “But, you know, for mages. Throws them off our scent.”
They travel a contorted, seemingly random path through Tziwan, sticking as much as possible to back alleys where no city watchmen go; soon even Meeshak and Ash are hopelessly lost. The starlight barely illuminates the rough, muddy roads, and the exhausted Northerners frequently stumble and fall. As the first slivers of moon rise in the night sky, they finally arrive at a grand-looking teahouse and inn. Njitra, relief evident in his face, leads them to the rear of the building and taps gently on a doorframe. “Master Zhensu. We’re here.”
The door slides open, and an aged Xaimani beckons them in. His silks and linens are caught up in a practical knot, like many of the innkeepers the party saw on the slave road. “Welcome to my lowly abode,” Zhensu says once they’re all inside. His warm, throaty voice and kindly face set them at ease. “I’m sorry you can’t stay long this time – my inability to offer you food is my shame. Please follow me.”
The escapees follow Zhensu down two flights of stairs, into a cellar room whose door and walls are painted with odd, elongated Xaimani characters. The hair stands up on Rian’s neck; she recognizes them as Radiant Path runes, the archaic script used to write words of power. The last time she saw them was on her great-grandfather’s scroll case.
“Please stand in front of this mirror, all of you.” Old Zhensu pours an assortment of exotic-looking powders and feathers into his palm, closes his fist, and mutters an incantation under his breath while walking around the party. When he flings his hand open, it is empty. His face creases with an extremely smug grin. “That should have Kesh’ao chasing his tail for a while. Now, I must send you out again, my Northern friends. I’m sure you are bursting with questions – as am I, please believe me – but we must get you underground before the sun rises or the watchmen begin combing the streets.
“The Minister will be reluctant to make his humiliation widely known as long as he thinks he can hunt you down with his mages, but by dawn I think they will be forced to acknowledge their failure and call out the watch – perhaps even a Legion or two. When the search has died down, it will be my great pleasure to offer you hospitality here again.”
“Thank you, sir,” Meeshak says fervently. Whoever you are, and whatever is going on here.
WHEN ZHENSU REOPENS the rune-covered door, there are two people there who weren’t before: another masked swordsman like Njitra or Chandur, and a young Szianar girl, about Rian’s age, with one side of her face terribly scarred as if held too close to a fire. The scarred girl has wide, angry eyes, and is wearing a brown cowled robe like the party members.
“Shihara has just been rescued from the Seko Estate,” Zhensu murmurs. “She will be joining you in the safe house.” Njitra nods and beckons the girl over. The growing group of fugitives ascends by a different succession of halls and stairways to emerge in a narrow building across the street from the inn. They dive back into the alleyways again, this time staying close to the immense wall of the first tier of Tziwan. Ash gets his bearings and decides they are walking north, close to the Slave Market where they were first sold. They bear east, past the grand Slave Gate into the upper city, then head into the Lakshari qohei where Ash and Meeshak ran so many errands.
Finally, just before daybreak, the exhausted party members duck into an alley behind a derelict Lakshari temple. Chandur guides them into a half-collapsed building, kneels to feel around between piles of rubble, and finally pulls up a well-concealed trapdoor in the floor. The lower side of the trapdoor is covered in protective runes. Pulling off his headcover, Chandur leads the escapees down into a warm and well-furnished cellar, where a meal and drinks are already set around a long, low table.
Njitra closes and bolts the trapdoor behind them, then bows to the party, removing his mask to reveal a brilliant smile. “Welcome, friends, to this safe house. Allow us to extend to you the indefinite hospitality of the Dragon Path.”