The days slipped by and so did the provisions. By the time they reached the north trade road, they were down to crumbs and half a bag of dried fruit. Occasionally Yadiru would emerge from the forest with a hare in his mouth and, on one memorable occasion, he’d dragged a juvenile boar back to camp. Other than that, their meagre supplies were supplemented with mushrooms foraged by Hataya and late fruit still clinging to the trees beside the road.

  Relief hit Eirik like a tidal wave when he caught a glimpse of a town ahead. It didn’t look like a particularly large place but he’d be satisfied with some decent provisions and a bed for the night. The idea of a bath appealed to him as well. Even a bucket of water to wash away the grit would do.

  Following Hataya’s advice, Eirik and Ruefin had both donned the headscarves that matched their Yeshmari robes in an effort to appear less conspicuous. Ruefin’s claymore had returned to its place on the side of his camel, its polished sheath wrapped in sacking. Eirik didn’t mind being cautious and checked that his axes were hidden but still accessible.

  On reaching the outskirts, Eirik’s optimism faded when he saw the abandoned farmland dotted with weathered barricades half collapsed in the earth. At some point this town had seen fighting and made an effort to keep the intruders out. Whether they succeeded or not would only be clear once they got inside.

  “Looks like the map was wrong,” Ruefin said, standing up in his stirrups and gazing off to the east. “The river doesn’t flow east to west at all.”

  “What do you mean?” Hataya looked where he pointed and turned to the west. “There’s the river over there,”

  “I can see that, but the river showed it flowing from the mountains to the east. I can see the riverbed and it’s dry.”

  Eirik consulted the map and had to agree. It showed the watercourse bisecting the town from east to west. Odd. Very odd.

  “So where’s the water coming from?” he asked Hataya, “do you think the ewer’s here?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s just get there before we start jumping to conclusions,” Hataya replied, her face in a frown.

  The first buildings they encountered were simple mudbrick affairs with roofs of thick grass thatch. Small gardens filled the spaces between them and Eirik saw mules bearing earthenware vessels brimming with water from the river. The inhabitants wore loose trousers that finished below the knee, and flowing tunics with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Most of the farming was being done by womenfolk, some with infants strapped to their backs, others with children running underfoot. Other than a few curious glances, the passage of three camels garnered little attention, and Eirik guessed that these people had long since learned to mind their own business.

  On the edge of the town proper stood a larger building mostly constructed of wood beside an extensive fenced paddock. Half a dozen mules and a couple of camels stared as Eirik and his companions came to a halt by the fence. In front of the building, a wide stall with a billowing orange canopy sheltered a figure sitting on a rug. Eirik dropped down from Lady Latrine’s back and approached, trying to ignore the thud and subsequent curses of Ruefin following suit.

  The figure got to their feet and revealed themselves to be an older man with dark skin and deep-set hooded eyes. His long linen tunic was a dusty white, as was the scarf wound around his head

  “Greetings, traveller,” he said, offering a bow, “those are fine beasts you have there.”

  Eirik returned the bow, relieved to hear the trade tongue spoken this far east.

  “Greetings, my friend. Do you offer stabling for travellers? My friends and I wish to break our journey for a few days and stock up on provisions.”

  “But of course. For a silver coin per beast, we provide the best care for the discerning traveller.”

  The stable owner’s gaze drifted to a point beside Eirik. He glanced down to find Yadiru at his side glaring across the stall. The man muttered something under his breath and turned his attention back to Eirik.

  “Please, bring them into the paddock. My people will clean and store the harness and see to water and feed.”

  Eirik beckoned to his friends and followed the owner through the gate leading to a barn-like structure at the rear. Two teenage boys came running out at the man’s call and came to a skidding stop when confronted with Lady Latrine who had lowered her head menacingly.

  “Now then, be nice,” Eirik said, patting her flank and raising a cloud of dust from her hide. Her head snaked round and gave him a look of utter contempt when he handed the reins to one of the nervous youths. Passing a handful of silver to the proprietor, Eirik unloaded his bags and hurried to help Hataya with her mount.

  “I’ve paid for a few days so we’ll have plenty of time to look around,” he said as he slung one of Hataya’s satchels over his shoulder. “I’m sure we can find a place to stay in town.”

  “If you’re looking for rooms, you should go to the town square,” the stable owner said, gesturing towards a thoroughfare heading north into town. “My brother Bahadur runs the West Wind Inn, the cleanest place in town. Tell him Dathan sent you and you’ll be properly taken care of.”

  “Thank you Dathan,” Eirik bowed again and returned to his friends.

  “So, where are we going?” Ruefin asked, shouldering his pack in an attempt to make his claymore less obvious.

  “Town square. Apparently there’s a decent inn there,”

  “I wonder what passes for decent here,” Ruefin mused, his face skeptical. “Cold beer would be a good start.”

  Privately agreeing, Eirik turned to Hataya and saw her looking back towards the stable. Yadiru remained close to the camels and made attempt to follow.

  “Is the Emissary not joining us?”

  “He’s going to guard our camels,” she said, finally turning away and following Eirik back to the main road, “besides, he might get the wrong kind of attention in town.”

  “Don’t people like dogs around here?”

  “He’s not a dog, remember? There are those who can see through his outward appearance, and they might question the presence of the Court. He’s just being careful.”

  Eirik remembered how Dathan had looked at Yadiru when they’d first arrived and wondered what he’d seen.

  The main road led them into the busier part of town and Eirik was surprised by the level of the activity going on around him. Carts pulled by mules and asses ferried people and goods throughout the town, and the general noise of humanity filled the air. The welcome smells of spices, hot food, and coffee from brightly-coloured stalls mixed with the less pleasant odour of over-ripe fruit and the tang of sweat and dung. As they neared the centre of town, the building crowded closer to one another and a network of shadowed alleys snaked between them. Shapes lurked in darkened corners and Eirik felt the weight of their gaze upon him, sizing him up. Occasional beggars squatted at street corners with their foreheads pressed to the dusty ground and cracked dishes in their outstretched hands. Passers-by moved aside and cast inquiring glances his way but so far Eirik sensed no outright hostility.

  Arriving at the town square, Eirik was genuinely surprised by what he saw before him. The town had indeed been bisected by the river once and technically still was, but in a very different way. The original riverbed still existed but the nature of the square had been drastically and forcefully changed. At the centre lay the largest body of water Eirik had seen for a long time. This roughly circular lake brimmed with the turbulent water flooding into it from the north. The new watercourse was no product of human engineering and he guess that the locals had simply tried to contain it. Buildings lay in semi-ruins on either side of the river’s path and he could see how the water had carved through the town with no regard for anything in its way. In his mind’s eye, he saw the flood raging through town until it found the old riverbed and claimed it, blowing apart the old banks to form the lake before hastening along the western channel.

  Hataya stopped dead in her track with her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. Eirik knew what she was thinking and moved closer, not wanting to be overheard.

  “We’re heading in the right direction, aren’t we? Someone’s used the ewer to create new rivers. Maybe we should check the north side of town,”

  “It has to be in a shrine. It’s the only way this could be possible,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

  “Don’t you think we should get ourselves settled before we go poking about?” Ruefin asked, shifting from one foot to the other. “We’re going to stick out like sore thumbs carrying all this stuff about.”

  Eirik took a deep breath and let it out slowly, passing his gaze around the perimeter of the square. The buildings here were taller and built from dressed stone and timber. One edifice on the northern edge caught his attention. The facade had been painted a bright white and boasted a pillared entryway at the top of a short flight of wide steps. The other buildings had an air of age about them, but this one appeared newer and more prestigious. He assumed that this one was the residence of whomever was in charge, not just because of the décor, but because of the four armed men in blue robes standing watchfully at the stairs. He kept an eye on them as he led his friends towards a two-storey building that proclaimed itself the ‘West Wind Inn’. Now he’d seen the guards in blue, he realised that others were spread throughout the square, mingling with the townsfolk among the stalls. A desire to get out of sight quickened his step until he reached the door and vanished into the shady interior.

  The atmosphere inside was cool and tranquil in contrast to the heat and bustle of the the market square. A gentle scent of incense permeated the air and punched metal lanterns speckled the walls with flickering light. Rush mats covered the floor, and each low table was surrounded by large, multi-coloured cushions.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Eirik approached the bar where a man in a flamboyant red tunic stood beside the charcoal brazier emitting the incense. Glossy black hair rested on his shoulders and an elegant goatee gleaming with oil adorned his chin.

  “Welcome friends,” he said, extending a hand and bowing, “how may I serve you this day?”

  Despite the difference in presentation, the resemblance to Dathan was undeniable.

  “Are you Bahadur?”

  “I am he,”

  “Your brother Dathan told us you run the cleanest inn around here. Do you have any rooms free?”

  Bahadur through back his head and laughed heartily.

  “Ah, my dear brother. Bless his loyal heart and love for family. I have but two rooms remaining, my friend. There are many travellers in town for the market this week.”

  Eirik glanced over his shoulder to where Ruefin and Hataya stood waiting expectantly.

  “You alright to share, Ruefin?”

  Ruefin’s head snapped round as if distracted from deep thought.

  “Sure. It’s not like it’s the first time,”

  “We’ll take them. How much are they? We might be here for a few days,” Eirik pulled out a small pouch from his satchel and looked at Bahadur expectantly.

  “Two gold coins per room, per day,” Bahadur replied, “and breakfast will be on the house since you’ve clearly made use of my brother’s services too.”

  Eirik paid for three days and led his friends up the stairs behind Bahadur and his voluminous tunic. At the end of the top floor, the innkeeper threw open two sets of ornately carved wooden doors with a flourish.

  “Please make yourself comfortable,” he said, stepping aside and inviting his guests to enter. “I will have the boy bring up hot water directly.” With a final bow, Bahadur retreated downstairs in a flounce of red fabric.

  Eirik and Ruefin took the larger room at the end of the hall, unceremoniously dumping their packs on the floor before inspecting their surroundings. The mattress lay on a thick woollen rug and was comprised largely of cushions in many faded shades of red and orange. Lengths of brightly-coloured fabric decorated the walls and ceiling in elaborate swags and tails, giving the feel of a desert pavillion. Along one wall stood a dark wood dresser holding a pair of brass bowls and a jug. Eirik raised his eyebrows and nodded. The room and furnishings had seen some wear but everything was clean.

  “Well, I’ve certainly slept in worse places,” Ruefin said. He’d already shed his travelling robes and was presently winkling himself out of his leather armour.

  “Yeah, most of them over the last few weeks,” Eirik replied, following suit.

  A knock at the door had them both reaching for weapons. Eirik cracked open the door and came face to face with a teenage boy bearing two buckets of slightly steaming water. He tossed the boy a silver coin and was rewarded with a winning smile as he brought the buckets inside and bolted the door.

  “I’m looking forward to this,” Eirik said, rapidly stripping off his remaining clothes. He was no stranger to the hardships of travel and had long since become inured to dust, mud, and the pervasive smell of sweat, but he didn’t enjoy any of it. In that moment, nothing gave him greater pleasure than rinsing away the grit from inconvenient places along with the overwhelming smell of camel.

  “That’s so much better,” he said with a sigh, drying himself on a towel he found on the back of the door.

  “Yeah, you’re a pretty city-boy again,” Ruefin said, chuckling from the cushions.

  Eirik threw the damp towel at him and searched his pack for a change of clothes.

  “Your turn, you filthy fuck,” he replied, finally locating some cleaner underwear, “or you can sleep outside in the hall.”

  After washing and changing, Eirik and Ruefin returned to the bar and found Hataya waiting for them. She sat at a table in the corner, pouring fresh coffee into three metal cups. She looked up as they entered the room and Eirik noticed a change in her. The lines in her face had softened and the tension in her jaw had subsided. The composure she’d shown on their first meeting had returned, and he speculated that their quest for restitution had focused her mind.

  “I’ve been talking to our host,” she said, pushing the steaming cups across the table and spooning honey into her own, “and a few things make more sense now.”

  “Let’s start with where we are,” Eirik said, realising that he had no idea where he was.

  “This is Saripha,” Hataya replied, watching him pull out the map and scribble a note on it. “Until two years ago it was ruled by the Duke Ibishan. According to Bahadur, he was popular enough that no-one wanted to assassinate him, and ruthless enough that neighbouring rulers respected him.”

  “So what happened? I’m guessing his dead now,” Ruefin asked, blowing on his coffee.

  “A city to the north, Muscan, was overrun by a warlord and his army. Seeking to carve himself an empire in Divarim, he sent his soldiers south. Duke Ibishan had grown complacent over the years and his soldiers were no match for the mercenaries who swept through the town. Thus, the Umriah took Saripha and placed their satrap here.”

  “That explains the barricades we saw. They’d have been better off with a wall,” Eirik said. He stirred his coffee and glanced across at Bahadur, wondering if it was safe to talk openly about such matters. A smart businessman would stay on good terms with whomever was in charge and make sure they heard about people asking questions.

  “Don’t worry,” Hataya said as if reading his mind, “my questions were the same as any other traveller would ask. If anything, he regards the Umriah as an inconvenience to be endured rather than oppressors to be appeased.”

  “Did he say anything about the river? The change of course must have been pretty dramatic.”

  Eirik gazed out of the window at the lake in the middle of the square.

  “Yes. I told him I’d visited a long time ago and remembered how it used to be. Apparently the waters started to dwindle a couple of months after the attack. The irrigation to the southern farmland failed and the crops withered away. The next thing they knew, a great torrent came from the north, carving a path through the borderlands and tearing through the town.”

  “Where it hit the riverbed and followed the original path to the west,” Ruefin said, and finally risked a sip of his coffee.

  “According to Bahadur, the tidal wave hit the bank with enough force to blow it apart. There was so much destruction. Many people were killed by debris or washed away in the flood. Once the initial impact had subsided, the town was left with a lake in the middle of the square and a river more powerful than they’d ever had before.” Hataya sat back on her cushion and drank her coffee, apparently impervious to its temperature.

  “So what of the farmers? How is the town feeding itself or are the Umriah bringing food in? I haven’t seen any signs of unrest, so the locals must be at least half-way content.”

  “The river brought a fresh layer of silt to the north and west of the town. New farms sprang up, and Bahadur said they can grow melons and tomatoes here now as well. It seems like there’s plenty for everyone.”

  “That’ll be how the Umriah stayed in power,” Ruefin said, setting down his cup, “people with full bellies aren’t interested in rebellion. The flood may have devastated the town, but the aftermath has brought benefits.”

  Perhaps that had been the point. Eirik had been struggling to find an explanation for the theft of Tsumaqui’s ewer. On the surface it seemed a pointless defilement that did nothing but serve someone’s ego, but he finally saw a glimmer of sense In it. To combine the act of conquest with an undeniable benefit to the conquered was a masterstroke.

  “I don’t think we’re going to find what we’re looking for here,” he said, meeting Hataya’s gaze, “and I’m willing to bet that warlord has it in his own city.”

  “I think so too,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning down, “and I’m worried about the spirit holding the ewer. The water is strong and destructive, and it frightens me.”

  They drank their coffee in silence.

  “Does this warlord have a name?” Ruefin asked suddenly. “We heard rumours of trouble out this way and I wonder if we’ve heard of him.”

  “They call him Agramed the Unyielding. It is said that he and his army swept down from the grasslands where he has already conquered the border kingdoms,” Hataya replied.

  “Can’t say I’ve heard the name but I’ve definitely heard it was an invader from the north,” Eirik said with a shrug.

  “Same here. Just think, if we hadn’t met the Yeshmari we could have ended up working for him,” Ruefin said, finally able to finish his coffee.

  Hataya looked up sharply and stared at each of them in turn.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We had time to kill and came this way to make some money before our next deployment,” Eirik explained. “We didn’t know what was going on or why. It just looked like an opportunity worth taking. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got a lot of his mercenaries the same way.”

  “Then it’s a blessing that the Court of the Winds brought you to us. You are good men and it would have been a shame if you were caught up in his schemes.” Hataya sat back on her cushion with a look of satisfaction.

  “Hataya, remember we’re just soldiers. Whether we’re good or evil depends what side you’re on,” Eirik said with his elbows on the table and his chin resting in his hands. “We do have morals, though, and we definitely believe that one good turn deserves another.”

  “Speaking of which,” Ruefin said, pushing himself upright and smoothing his tunic, “we should take a proper look around town and get a feel for the place. I’m not convinced the Umriah are as benevolent as their fresh water supply suggests.”

  “Yes, let’s look around before it gets dark,” Hataya picked up her staff and followed Ruefin towards the door.

  Eirik adjusted his headscarf, tucked his robe over his axes and, with a nod to Bahadur, followed the others outside.