Chapter 17

We reached Nesratin shortly thereafter. One of the border towns, it spanned the western river, and marked the point at which the low road entered the Bani district from Kuru. Not that the districts really needed an official border marker, their natural differences made the transition obvious. Our winding path south had brought our elevation steadily lower, and the rocky hills of Kuru had become flatter. At the western river, however, what was left of the hills dropped off into rough cliffs. They weren’t sheer rock surfaces, but were in some ways more treacherous. Sharp inclines of loose dirt and scree, barely anchored by the tenacious roots of low scrub. Above that line you’d find thick forests and rocky fields. Below it, jungles and floodplains.

Nesratin was effectively two towns, linked at the river by great stone spans. Some stories said that King Ramana himself had raised the bridges, drawing up bedrock to form the two spans. Only sorcery, they said, could have formed the supports that had withstood the fury of the western river for hundreds of years. While I had no doubt that Ramana could accomplish such a feat, I thought the bridges were much older.

The path down through the Kuru side off town was a series of long switchbacks, with buildings of fitted and mortared fieldstone sitting on terraces cut into the hillside. Small gardens and decorative courtyards made these homes and businesses more welcoming, providing places for mounts and pack animals to rest. Of course this was to entice travelers to stop, as many mounts could be stressed or tired out by the long, uneven climb. My goats had no such trouble. Ita and Ina had made this trip dozens of times now, and their size belied their agility. An ox or bison might be able to pull more weight, but no other mount or beast of burden could match mine for adaptability. Especially when I assisted them with a trickle of my mana.

“I’ve heard of familiars,” said Myta, swaying in her seat next to me. “But, goats?”

“They’re practical. I’d hate to keep retraining new ones. And they’re not terribly threatening besides.”

“I don’t know if you’ve actually looked at them recently, if you think that,” she gestured toward the pair, “isn’t threatening. Three pairs of horns is just excessive.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

Crossing the bridges always made me feel like my bones had turned to lead. The sheer amount of earth mana that was pressed into the stone dragged at me through simple proximity. Soon enough though, we were across, and among the more transient buildings of the Bani side of town. A few of the larger buildings here were more permanent, raised on sturdy piles above the level of regular flooding. But many were built to be replaced. Wattle and daub structures that would wash away in the seasonal floods.

Less than a minute across the bridge and I could tell that there was tension in the air. The pathways were far too crowded, as were the buildings. Some larger structures, almost like barns, took up an inordinate amount of the usable ground. Leaving the regular buildings pressed together cheek by jowl. I went to my regular contact in the town, a man by the name of Bakun. Technically he was a merchant, owning a compound that often served as temporary housing for caravans, and even the locals, during the rainy seasons. He’d been at it so long, and was so well respected in the town, that the people had changed his suffix by popular acclaim. I’d known him back when he was still Bakud, and in all that time he had never tried to cheat me, or mentioned my apparent age. Reliability and discretion were my two favorite qualities in my business associates.

Bakun had one of the permanent structures, a tavern set on top of living tree trunks that curled around the building like a giant”s fingers. He’d invested a great deal of money in having a sorcerer shape the plants, but I knew he’d paid that debt long since. Nothing would weather the annual floods better than the deep and wide roots of the pestla trees, and that support allowed him to build far larger than his peers. I suspected that something similar protected his safe compound, though I’d never actually visited it.

“Esur!” Bakun was no taller than myself, but somehow he always kept an eye on his door, even across as thick a crowd as currently thronged his building. “Come, join me!”

I wandered my way over to his bar. The elderly man didn’t generally tend bar himself anymore, but he liked to sit at it for his business dealings. Also for trading gossip, and dispensing sage advice to the younger generation. I sat down with him, declining an offered drink. The mood, even in here, had me on edge.

“Busy day for you,” I commented, attempting to keep my voice casual. “And the streets are busy too.”

“Yes. Some visitors from Bani, looking to sell slaves up the low road. They arrived right after the spring rains. Bad for the streets, but good for my business.” His words didn’t quite match the warning look he shot me. Somehow, these outsiders had been causing trouble. Their timing was blatantly suspicious. If they had arrived here shortly after the spring rains, that would have been as the contagion was just ramping up in Kuru, and well before news of it should have reached this far south. Whoever sponsored these traders, they weren’t even trying to hide their involvement. At least not from anyone bothering to look.

We chatted a bit longer, catching up on the random happenings around town. The viridian contagion hadn’t struck here, or he would have mentioned it right away. I was just asking him about the bandit attacks I’d heard so much of, when I felt a searing pain in my chest, as though I’d been struck with a hot poker. I cut off mid sentence, suppressing my scream of pain. Growling between clenched teeth, I opened my spiritual eye, looking for the attack.

I was no stranger to this kind of pain, although I hadn’t endured it since arriving in Ramana. Years of peace and safely had clearly dulled my reflexes. It took a few long seconds for me to gather up my mana, and longer to realize that the attack was not against my spirit, but Myta’s. But even as unprepared as I was, our attacker had badly underestimated me. Direct spiritual attacks were the purview of soul sorcerers, and they always left one open to retaliation.

Closing my eyes, I pushed away my awareness of what was around me. Bakun was shouting something, calling for help I thought, but I couldn’t spare any attention for that. Myta was in danger, a danger that she was not equipped to deal with. I seized control of her mana, pushing along as much of my own as her anima could contain. With that, I could sense the state of her spirit, feel the wound the enemy was attempting to carve into her. Whoever this was, the were trying to excise her soul bond. Not sever the bond, which would have been injurious but potentially survivable. No, they were attempting to carve out the bond’s anchor, which would normally leave both Myta and myself crippled and dying.

I felt the enemy’s probe piercing Myta’s presence again, preparing to deliver another ****. The cold clarity of rage filled me at its appearance. The attack was a lancet, styled after my own. My worry for Myta vanished in a moment, as did my surprise, and any concern for my own pain. The arrogance of this fool, this child, using my technique to try and harm my precious flame. It was not something I would allow. With diamond will, and all our available mana, I forged a perfect point, a tiny needle of anima, with a razor fin. My needle met the tip of the attacker’s lancet. By all rights, my attack should have failed. This sorcerer had who knows how long to layer and purify their anima and intent. I’d had only moments, working with Myta’s anima, weakened by her soul sickness. But my will was far greater than that of this pup, and I understood the strengths and weaknesses of my own technique far better than they could.

My needle sought out the opening at the end of the lancet, the channel meant to help drain infected mana from a patient. The lancet shattered. And then my needle continued along the attached meridian, the razored flange splitting the channel open like a vein. As their mana spilled out, I latched onto the wound, attempting to drain their spirit dry. The mana was no real use to me, it had an oily feeling, like entitled arrogance or servile zealotry. Those concepts were surprisingly closely linked. It wasn’t worth the effort it would take to cleanse, and so I scattered the mana as far is I could. It wasn’t ideal, there would be a lot of poor behavior around town over the next few days, but all I cared about right now was bleeding this fool. Unfortunately, Myta’s attacker realized exactly how much danger they were in. They severed their own meridian, breaking my connection before I could siphon the last of their strength. They were weak, and now badly wounded, but would almost certainly survive.

I refocused on my own state. Bakun had moved me to a back room, one of the ones he used for private business. I was laid out on the floor, on some comfortable furs. I was laid on the leather side though, and I wondered if the old man had reason to believe I wouldn’t survive my fit. It was easier to clean leather than fur. Bakun himself was seated nearby, waiting fretfully, with a cup of herbal tea. If my nose was not mistaken, he had added something a little stronger to it.

“Esur, my friend!” He noticed nearly the moment my eyes opened, and I thought it was telling that he kept his voice low, even in here. “You lived!”

Well, I suppose that was confirmation that he had not expected me to. Nodding to him, I gathered myself up, making sure I had no unexpected injuries. I hadn’t been the target of the attack, but it was best to verify my own condition first.

“Bakun, I must check on my guard, and my cart.” He nodded, unsurprised.

“I had your cart pulled into the staging yard, where is is being guarded. Your girl… she is not faring as well as you.” His face was grim, but fortunately I could feel Myta’s condition. I was more worried about her being physically attacked in our moment of weakness.

“You brought her inside?” He nodded. “Then she will be fine, once I’ve tended to her.”

“You can rest here, for however long you need to recover. But the situation here is dangerous.” He seemed about to say more, but then shook his head in dismissal. “Your girl is in the next room. Recover, and we will talk more later. Don’t leave the back rooms. With any luck, they’ll think you dead already.” With that he rose and left, leaving me alone with my questions.