The Tree of Life (Lost Civilizations: 3) by Vaughn Heppner Page B

a yellow skirt. She had chosen a red silk blouse from Ir and supple black boots, which reached to the hemline near her knees. Except for the few Kushite warriors from the Far South, she was the darkest-skinned person in Carthalo. That had created an attraction. During the past week, several bravos had requested her to accompany them to a formal dance. Two estate families and one of the merchant-princes had asked if she would sing at their parties.
    She’d refused all invitations. Rest from that awful ordeal on the sea, baths in a privately heated pool and the composition of a special song, had taken all her time. Otherwise she was with Lord Uriah as he tried to recruit Elonite nobles or at times, lone Elonite warriors.
    Adah adjusted her blouse. Lord Uriah had taken a hefty loan from a merchant-prince. It had paid for their rooms, these clothes and the bounty Lord Uriah had shown each Elonite. It was “the war chest,” as Lord Uriah liked calling it.
    Adah picked up her lyre and strummed as she practiced singing a mournful song about trolocks awakening in the crypt. She worked through the battle with Tarag, when the door banged open. Amery stood there, breathlessly.
    “Lord Uriah is back. He wants everyone in his room.”
    “Immediately?” asked Adah.
    Amery rushed away without answering. Maybe she needed to tell Auroch and Gens.
    Adah strummed her lyre for luck. The City Council had requested Lord Uriah’s presence this morning. Nar Naccara had accompanied him, and had forewarned them to expect bad news.
    Adah wrapped soft leather around the lyre and carefully set it on the table. She hesitated and then went to her bed. She reached under the pillow. She removed the slender dagger and slid it into the hidden sheathe in her left boot. Now, she was triply ready. There was a throwing knife strapped to each cloth-covered wrist. Nar Naccara had warned them about Gog-paid assassins. Adah locked the door and soon knocked on Lord Uriah’s richly paneled wood.
    “Enter.”
    His room was larger, and he didn’t share it with anyone. It was gloomy and stuffy as she walked in. Unsurprisingly, it smelled like a brewery.
    Lord Uriah regarded a painting by Serbis of Iddo. The Siga proprietor had placed the painting in the room at Lord Uriah’s request. A small collection hung in the Siga’s main gallery. The painting showed a red-haired giant battling a kingly charioteer.
    “What happened at the meeting?” Adah asked.
    Lord Uriah sipped ale, as he studied the charioteer.
    Adah sat at the massive table. There was bread, almonds, ale and a scroll. Huge Auroch entered. He wore chainmail, a heavy sword and a frown. City guards paced him whenever he left the inn.
    “Well,” Auroch asked, “what’s the news?”
    Lord Uriah drained his mug, and continued to study the painting.
    Gens, Zillith and Amery entered in the company of a tall Elonite named Lord Mikloth.
    Lord Mikloth had a beak of a nose, so he resembled a thin hawk. His sunken cheeks added to the image. He was of the Clan of Nahath, of the Tribe of Onam. He’d joined them, adding his band of hard-bitten warriors. The reason he had proven willing was that Lord Mikloth had been on a hunting expedition to capture orns. Orns inhabited the interior mountain ranges. They were predatory birds, twice to three times the bulk of an ostrich, and they were considerably more dangerous. Lord Mikloth had a contract for twenty adult birds. Merchants wished to ship the orns to Iddo for the city entertainment there. Unfortunately, when Lord Mikloth had marched into the interior, he’d stumbled into a Nebo ambush. Many of his Elonites had died under a hail of spears and thudding stone axes. After driving off the forest warriors, hidden drums had called more of the primitives. Lord Mikloth and his few surviving men had beaten a hasty retreat to the coast.
    A few words with Mikloth’s warriors throughout the days had convinced Adah that the Elonite noble was more interested in capturing