expression crossed his face. He moved his lips, apparently searching for words. “He is, I know, a man of honor. I have never trusted his master, but I do not doubt his charge. It will be safer to travel with him. He may even protect you.”
Berun refrained from laughing. “Who is he?”
‡
The abbey masters had arranged for Berun and his traveling companion to meet the following morning at the Tam Docks in Heblast, the westernmost neighborhood in Golna. Impatient to get moving, Berun arrived early and attempted to distract himself by watching the fishermen unload the night’s catch from their flat-bottomed riverboats. In quick time, butcher stalls were erected. Chum buckets overflowed. Restaurant and foodstall owners filled the boardwalk, straining past their neighbors to offer money for the best cuts.
Nhamed had given Berun a description of Vedas Tezul, but he disregarded it. He would not search the crowd for a particular face. Like Ulomi men, Knosi all looked the same to him. Most likely, it would be some time before he was able to differentiate Vedas from his countrymen. It made far more sense for the man to find Berun.
Of course, resentment spurred this decision, as well. The presumption of Nhamed, thinking Berun needed protection! He wondered why he had allowed himself to be corralled to the docks, why he did not even now walk away. He always knew the direction in which he traveled, could always place himself on the map of Knoori his creator had placed inside his head. Surely, he could walk from Dareth Hlum to Danoor in three and a half months. One and a half months would have been enough time. Nhamed worried too much.
Nonetheless, Berun waited, curious despite himself. A Black Suit—perhaps the man Omali had commanded him to watch. Certainly, Berun had received no message not to accompany the man, even though his presence slowed travel considerably.
Despite having spent a day and night meditating on Omali’s mystifying words, Berun had not been able to achieve peace. Indeed, his indignation only grew. He chafed at being controlled, but did not know enough to call his mission a fool’s errand. What if Vedas truly did pose a threat? Berun would not revolt against his creator without a compelling reason.
Conceivably, he did not possess the means to revolt. He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly restless. Winning tournaments in Golna had bolstered his confidence, assured him of his strength. The possibility that he had underestimated his own weakness discomforted him.
The sun rose above the horizon, and the crowd began to clear from the boardwalk.
“You are Berun?”
“Yes,” Berun rumbled. He turned from his view of the river and regarded the man.
As he had expected, Vedas Tezul was to most appearances a typical Knosi, broad nosed and black skinned. Unlike many of his countrymen, however, he did not wear his hair in long matted cords or as a halo around his head. Instead, he chose to shave his scalp and face bald. He had not adorned his elder-cloth suit with artistic designs or caused it to form thick armor. Overall, Berun considered the effect somewhat unimpressive, as if the man were only half-finished. Even his posture was unnaturally stiff. He looked like a man who had never become comfortable in his skin.
“Ten days.” Vedas said. “Nbena is only two hundred miles. You can manage twenty miles a day?”
Berun bit back his first reply. “Yes,” he said simply. Was the man an idiot? Of course he could walk twenty miles a day. He could walk miles around Vedas Tezul.
“Do you need to purchase any supplies?” the man asked.
Berun stared.
Father , he thought. This can’t be the man you want me to watch.
CHURLI CASTA JONS
THE 18 th AND 19 th OF THE MONTH OF SOLDIERS, 12499 MD
THE TOWN OF BASEC, NATION OF CASTA
T he old men of Basec thrust their staff-ends into the unfinished wooden stands of their small theater. They did not smile or stand in respect, and the weak sound of their
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