Zhaskur

A Story by Onyx Tao

© 2010

Released under the Creative Commons

Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike License

[http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/](%5C)

#

Arrival

The shade provided by the gauze awnings cut the fierce sunlight down to something tolerable; layer upon layer of fine Kmetian gauze diffused the light, making it merely bright, rather than the hammer-blow it was outside the gazebo. I hadn't expected the garden-like setting when I entered the teahouse - or what I'd thought was a teahouse - but I was getting a fast lesson in the difference between a human teahouse and a gnollish one. The proprietor - Mujarin - had met me at the door with a grimace on his muzzle as he informed me, in slow, growling gnoll, that this shop did not cater to ... humans. My quick request to speak to 'Idolph' - whom I'd been instructed to ask for, produced a remarkable change in the gnoll. He went from borderline hostile to almost fawningly polite, bidding me enter, taking me quickly into the inner courtyard and into one of the several private gauzy tent-gazebos so quickly that I barely had a chance to see the shop interior. A few gnolls looked up from their cushions, briefly distracted from the bowls on the tiny tables, but the shop itself was dim - dark, even, with only the light from the doors to illuminate it, and I had seen little besides interested shapes, peering back at me.

"I will send a runner to inform the Illustrious One." the gnoll said, almost nervously. "Although I cannot say when we will be graced. I ..." and then gnoll fell silent for a moment. "Apologies, forgiveness. I do not know what in my shop would be palatable to you. I do know humans do not like teacuts ... I will see if we can find something. And I will bring tea, yes, cool, refreshing, the finest tea of Zhaskur, yes?"

"How ..."

"You are the guest of the Illustrious," the gnoll said, clasping his hands together in an odd fashion, almost like praying. "Do not concern yourself with trifles such as payment. Nothing in my miserable shop is good enough for such a guest and so I cannot expect recompense for my worthless hospitality!" He bowed - bowed - and let himself out through the layers of wispy gauze. I think this was the first time I'd ever been bowed to by a gnoll.

I looked around with interest. For the most part, gnolls in the lower city - where the ports, and therefore most of the non-gnollish visitors were - didn't have much to say other than move along. This was far more private than one of the small tables in the store, maybe the equivalent of a booth, as opposed to the tiny tables. The floor was tiled, in a blue-and-green spiral design. Thick rugs embroidered with fields of flowers and butterflies surrounded the low table, and a multitude of equally ornate cushions rested on the rugs. Even the table was decorated; it appeared to be bronze, beaten and embossed with geometric lines. Light hammer marks formed a background field on the bronze, with circles and more circles on top of them. The gauze fluttered slowly in the gentle ocean breeze, keeping the interior, if not cool, at least not too hot.

The proprietor returned a few minutes later, with a gigantic glass tray shaped and colored in swirled orange and red like a flattened rose. The tray itself was perhaps half an inch thick; too thick to be the finest glasswork, but still surprisingly elaborate for a teahouse. The gnoll carefully presented me with one of the two tiny bronze bowls, and then poured a thick brown tea into it. Setting the other bowl down, he touched the teapot to the bowl, and then set the pot down onto the table. He clasped his hands together again, and bowed. "Apologies and forgiveness. If ... if you could sample the tea, and tell me if it pleases you? It is a fine tea, one of the best teas, but ... I do not know how it will taste to you.

The bowl was cool, almost cold to my touch, and the tea was chilled; my first impression was coolness, followed by a heavy meaty flavor. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't what I was expecting, and my expression must have tipped the gnoll off.

"It does not please," sighed the gnoll. "Something ... heavier? Lighter? Apologies, apologies, but I have no idea what might be refreshing to a human."

"It's not bad, it's ... not what I think of as tea, I'd enjoy something like this hot, it's ... more a broth. Meat cooked in water?"

"Yes," the gnoll said. "I could heat it, if that would please ..."

"Thank you, but no, it's warm enough."

"Yes," said the gnoll. "Of course."

"What ... what other teas do you have, may I ask? How ... what are they prepared from?"

"Ah," said the gnoll, clasping his hands and bowing yet again. "Of course. So foolish of me. Yes. Well; there is lim, which you have before you, of beef and bones, skimmed, with flavorful herbs. It is the most often requested of my patronage, and indeed I think I prepare it well. Mag is prepared from birds, and is lighter in color and taste, and I admit I prefer mag to lim myself. Valdya ... well, it is from ..." the gnoll paused. "Zebra. Something like the Wuskan horse, although the flavor is far better, as zebra is wild. If you are familiar with zebra?"

"No," I said. "Do you have any cool drinks that ... are not made from meat?"

The gnoll looked taken aback for a moment, and then nodded. "Belsk, an infusion of preserved fruit. Salty, very strong in flavor, very thick." The gnoll looked at me for a moment. "Or perhaps cool waters scented with limon flower and rosis. Very light, very refreshing, a predawn daintiness, I have some cooling ... "

"Rosis?"

"A flower, a most lovely flower, that this tray is so poorly patterned on," the gnoll said.

Rose. Actually .... "That sounds very good," I said. "Might I try some?"

"Of course," the gnoll bowed again, and took up both bowls and the teapot. "So foolish of me. Apologies," and he was back out the the gauze. "Apologies," he whispered from outside.

I studied the tray. It was quite a layout; I recognized the creamy yellow blobs as a local cheese. Colorful wet slices of lemon, oranges, and limes, although ... I tasted an orange slice. Salt and pungent orange; the thing was pickled. Long, thin bones with dried meat crusted with glittering crystal turned out to be some kind of sugar-preserved lamb chop, and it was hard, gamy, and achingly sweet, but ... not inedible. I managed to chew some of the meat off the bone before the gnoll returned, with a silver pot and bowls. I put the bone down, and the gnoll looked inquiringly at it. "It does not please?"

"Well, it's hard to eat lamb - it is lamb, isn't it - quite like that."

"Ah," the gnoll said, and simply poured what looked like clear water into a silver bowl. "This suits?"

I tasted it, and it was ... wonderful. Cool, scented with orange flower and a hint of rose, and delicious. "Very much, thank you."

The gnoll clasped his hands again. "Nothing, it is nothing. And ..." he gestured to the tray. "I see you have tried the saved limon. Red, yellow, green, and orange. The mindi," and he gestured at the dried lamb chops. "Honey saved walnuts, and oboenuts, spiced sweet walnuts, and oboenuts, salted walnuts and oboenuts, and spiced hot," he said, gesturing at the various nuts. "Basz," he said, indicating a pale dried breadstick. "To clean the teeth. These are imus, preserved meats, in a variety of spices, hot, sweet, and other. And here ... shaved coconut, fresh, in its own water," and he put another bowl down on the tray. "I thought coconut-waters might please you."

"Yes," I said. "Thank you."

The gnoll sighed in relief as he clasped his hands and bowed. "Excellent. Excellent. I have sent the message."

I nibbled my way through the odd food - odd to me, anyway. Oboenuts were round, creamy, and, once I bit on them, seemed to melt in my mouth, crunchy and melty with a mild flavor that was ... delicious. The honeyed nuts were excellent, as were the spiced ones, but the 'spiced hot' oboenut I tried burned my mouth. The mincemeat was spiced very strangely, but tasty. The biscuit was bland, neither sweet nor salty, but it went well with the mild cheese. I drank the perfumed water - and that was wonderful. The coconut was fresh, and tasty, too. It was really only the lamb chops - mindi - that I couldn't deal with. And the hot spiced nuts. Whew. I was glad I had the coconut after that one!

I suppose the dimming light caught me by surprise. I'd been looking for work - ha. Desperate for work, turned off a ship sailing from Rusalka to Vulpa. Without a sailor's bond, I should add. I'd had a few coins, but they had run out, and then I'd started selling my gear. I got good prices for it, but ... when you start selling your gear, you're in trouble. It's just as hard to get a mercenary's slot without some armor and a sword as it is to get a sailor's berth without a sailor's bond. I'd finally sold my sword three days ago, and I had ... maybe ... four days of coin unless I found something. What I hadn't realized when that bastard wolven captain discharged me here was that the only way in or out of Zhaskur for a human is by sea. Without the sailor's bond he'd promised me, the only chance I had of leaving was as a marine. Without gear - hell, without my sword - that was going to be damn hard. The other problem of Zhaskur is that it's slaver. The city guard is mostly hobgoblin - all slaves. Mamelukes, led by gnoll officers, and they're not interested in hiring humans, even as a mameluke, and I really don't want to end up as a slave.

That left guard or tough-guy positions down by the wharves. There weren't a lot of them, though, and I didn't find any that were open.

What I found was a posted notice, on bright yellow parchment and deep midnight-blue ink that stood out from the cheaper paper scraps and charcoal-scrawled notes.

The honorable post of Harem Attendant awaits a male applicant. Some small skill with a blade and experience in the world are required, although it is much to be hoped that the position and role is uneventful! Hasten your steps to the Square of the Dancing Hexagons, to the gracious shop of the illustrious Mujarin, proprietor of fine teas. There ask for Idolph, that with all speed your presence may be made known, and enjoy refreshment at the skilled hands of Mujarin himself. May the deserved favor of the Gods find you, assuring you peace, health, wisdom, and wealth!

I don't think I'd have bothered, except for the part about 'refreshment.' I was hungry, and as it turned out, I was hungry enough to climb up into the upper city and hunt down the teashop. The refreshment might be strange - really strange - but there was no doubt they were food, and the gnoll kept coming in, to clear the tray, bring another tray of treats, and he clearly paid attention to what I'd eaten. Mindi and spiced-hot things, along with the revolting pickled fruit failed to make a reappearance. I had some serious reservations about harem attendant, though. I'd heard stories about just what was required of a harem guard, and ... I might be hungry and desperate, but I wasn't that hungry and desperate.

The dimming light brought the gnoll back, with a fresh cool pot of water and a tiny lamp. "The Illustrious One has sent word," he said, as he hung the lamp. "Perhaps another few hours. Zahib, I wonder if perhaps you might courteously assist me in a question I have. A perplexing question."

"I'd be happy to," I said.

The gnoll vanished outside, and came back in with ... a bronze bowl of peeled, section fruit - all citrus, more of the lemons, limes, red-oranges, oranges, and the tarter pink-oranges. "It is this. A slave who assists in my kitchen claims that these would be tempting morsels for a human, with no more seasoning than the merest sprinkling of clarified cane crystals." The gnoll paused. "It seemed ... incredible, but ... the slave has been honest, and hard-working. Still, if this slave is playing some trick meant to embarrass me before a guest ... well. You see my problem," the gnoll said. "Should I reward this slave for initiative and cleverness, or beat it for impudence?"

"Reward," I said, confidently. "I didn't know you had fresh fruit ..."

"Really? You can ... ah, yes," the gnoll said, smiling. "Rewarded. Handsomely." He put the bowl down, and put a long, forked skewer down on the bowl. "There are still a few hours. Enjoy."

I did.

I had actually dozed off by the gnoll came back in. The lantern was the only light now, and the oppressive warmth of the day had faded to a more pleasant coolness. "Zahib. Ah. Your visitor! In moments! Here!" He thurst a wet towel at me, and mimed wiping. I cleaned my face and hands, and he grabbed the towel and bowed himself out of the gazebo again.

I stood, and waited. The gauze parted, and a hobgoblin guard came in, scimitar out, and stood at one side, and another followed. I've been a soldier, and these might be bodyguards - I was hoping they were bodyguards - but they were good ones. The scimitars were high-quality grayed steel, clean and sharp, and the green embroidered silk over the chainmail didn't lessen its protection. Three right-to-left diagonal gray slashes over a yellow circle - I'm sure that would mean something to a gnoll, but it didn't mean anything to me.

While I'd been inspecting them, subtly, they'd been not-so-subtly looking over the interior. The second one gave a grunt in gnollish. "Remain standing for the Illustrious One." Ostensibly, that was for me, but it also seemed to be a signal as the gauze parted again to permit a silk-wrapped figure inside. She was on the small side for a gnoll.

Her head was veiled with opaque white silk. "Oh," a light gnollish voice said from the veil. "Please. Relax." An equally obscuring robe covered her. Silk fluttered from her arms, and even her hands were obscured by a fall of long, opaque white silk gathered around her wrists. "Sit, sit," and the figure delicately arranged her clothing, and reclined elegantly on the cushions. She looked at the table, and turned her head. Unlike her guard, her clothing was plain - almost extravagantly so. Silk comes from Vulpa, and it is certainly out of my price range. Even if it's not so dear in Zhaskur as it is in Rusalka, it's still anything but cheap, and the fine, clear white had to be ... more than I could easily estimate, especially wrapped so liberally around the hidden gnoll.

Another hobgoblin warrior - this one with a sheathed sword - came into the small tent, bearing another glass platter of food morsels - it might have been the first platter again. "Ah. Saved fruit!" she said happily, and from a long silver forked tine appeared from the veil over her right hand, and it speared one of the pink-oranges. A moment later, the morsel had vanished under her veil. "Tea?"

That, apparently, was more a request, as the serving-guard poured the perfumed water into her bowl. It vanished for a moment behind her veil. She set it back down. "I requested that Mujarin make your wait as pleasant as possible; I am sorry I couldn't get away sooner."

"Everything's been great," I said. "The food was ... well, a little unusual, but good. Very good."

"You're clearly not from Zhaskur," she said. "Or ... no. Surely not."

"No. Uh. My name is Mark, by the way." Black Mark, actually. The Black Mark. I didn't tell her that; she didn't need to know. And I was trying to avoid the name, for the moment.

"Mark," she said. "I'm Rwenthlethance. Rwence. Please call me Rwence." She sighed. "I have to admit it's been a very long day for me, and you're probably not seeing me at my best. I'm glad to talk to you! I've ... I haven't had many applicants, I have to admit. I hope ... no, let me tell you what I want, first. I want a companion. Someone who's ... seen the world, or at least more of it than Zhaskur." She paused. "I'm just afraid you'll be bored ... I can't say my life is exciting. The opposite, really."

"I could use some not-exciting for a while," I said.

"And ..." she said, slowly. "There's the ... well. I never imagined a human would see my notice. I mean, I was expecting ... maybe a hobgoblin," she admitted. "Well, I didn't really think a hobgoblin would apply, but I thought ... well. What I thought doesn't matter. I never expected a human. I'd rather made up my mind when I first heard that, of all people, a human had shown up, to send back a tradebar for your troubles and apologize for the inconvenience and have Mujarin dismiss you."

I tried to keep astonishment from replacing the smile on my face. A tradebar would be more than enough to book passage out of Zhaskur ... if Rwence was prepared to pay that much just to turn someone down ... maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. I have to admit, I like money. Of course, that's gotten me into trouble in the past. In fact, that's why I was nearly ten weeks by sea away from Rusalka in the first place ... and what was I doing, woolgathering, while a prospective employer was talking? Damn it, I needed this job!

"But then, I thought, I'd been so very specific when I composed my little note, and ... nobody else has responded. You're the very first fellow to come, and I've had the notice out for almost two months. I was starting to wonder if I'd made a mistake."

"I'm the first?" I said. "I'm surprised. I'd think that lots would apply, since you offered food. If just for the food." That was more than half the reason I'd come myself.

"Oh. Well," the gnoll said. "Hmmm. Not really."

"Is there some reason for that?"

"Well. Yes."

Ah ha, I thought. Now we were getting to it. "Something about being a harem attendant, maybe?"

The veiled figure was silent, and then she said, "No."

"So I wouldn't have to be ..." I paused, unwilling to complete the sentence.

There was a moment of silence, and then she said, "Be what?"

"Fixed," I said.

There was another moment of silence, and then she said, "In what sense are you broken?"

One of the guards snickered, and she turned to him. "Brez, I'm missing something, aren't I?"

"He's asking if he has to be castrated to serve you, Illustrious," the guard said.

"No!" she said, quickly. "No, no, not at all. How horrible! No! Certainly not! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"I suppose there are some strange rumors about harems," I said. "I'm glad to hear that ... won't be an issue."

"Well," the gnoll said, "if that's the rumor ... the rumor is wrong. Very wrong."

"I'm glad to hear it," I said. "I have to admit that would have been a deal-breaker."

"Deal ... oh," she said. "Yes, I suppose it would have been, but no, no ... body modifications are required. Or desired."

I nodded. "You keep saying, bodyguard, but it looks like you have a pretty good set of guards."

She nodded. "Oh, I do, I do. They are excellent, no question, but they belong to my grandmother, and their loyalty is to her, not me. Which is as it should be - I'd think less of them if it were otherwise. But I want someone whose first loyalty is mine." She paused. "Which is not to say they don't guard me well, or that they're anything less than responsible - they're not. But their duty is to report to my grandmother, to look after her interests first. If they're told not to tell me something - they don't. Which, again, is exactly as it should be."

I looked up at them. It seemed a little strange to be discussing this in front of them. "Bodyguard. And ... companion?"

"Oh, yes. I want someone to accompany me outside. I mean, just this little trip took eight guards. If I had a reliable chaperon - you - then I could have cut it down to two - one guard for me, one for you."

I blinked. "Let me see if I understand this. I'm considered an acceptable chaperon?"

"Yes," she said, sounding puzzled.

"Okay," I said. "If you say so. Anything else? 'Cause, I have to admit, it's sounding like a pretty easy job."

"Well, technically you're a member of the harem," she said, after a moment. "But there's only me and my grandmother. You won't have to bodyguard her, of course. I doubt anyone would attack me. I mean, it could happen, but ..."

I nodded. "I see. Okay. So ... how much does this pay?"

The veil nodded. "I inquired. For one year, nine tradebars is reasonable."

I nodded again, smiling. "That sounds ... acceptable," I said. Much more than acceptable! Hell, I'd be lucky to earn that much in ten years, much less one, as a bodyguard anywhere else.

"You get a half-bar immediately, and another half-bar each month and the remainder at the end of the contract," she said. "If you leave before the year's up, you forfeit the remaining pay. I have the right to terminate your contract by paying you one tradebar through the first six months, and the remainder of the amount through the second. Clear?"

I thought about that. "That seems complicated."

She shrugged. "I think it's fair. And it prevents ... certain other problems. I have no incentive to turn you out right before the year is up, for example, and I still have a fair amount of time to judge whether ... this will work or not."

She was right, I realized. That had never happened to me - being thrown out just before wages were due - but I'd seen it happen to others. Of course, most others didn't have my skill with a sword. "I've never had a problem," I said, "but I see your point, it seems ... very fair. Am I being charged for anything? Do I have to provide my own weapons, clothes, ...."

"No," she said, sounding surprised. "Certainly not! What ..." and then she paused. "I'm sorry," she said, actually sounding contrite. "I've no idea how humans manage these things. But no. All those expenses are mine, not yours, although if you don't like what I provide ... well, I suppose you could buy your own. But ... I don't propose to have you dressed or armed poorly!" A cloth-covered hand waved at the two guards in the gazebo. "Do they seem poorly maintained?"

"No," I admitted.

"Well," she said. "I'm satisfied. Do you accept?"

That was it? "This seems ... too good to be true," I said.

The silk fluttered, and the gnoll said, with a hint of amusement, "I could pay you less, I suppose. Five tradebars, one-fourth tradebar a month, one-half tradebar termination. Does that sound better?"

"No," I said. "That's ... not what I meant. It just seems ..."

She waited for me while I tried to marshal my thoughts, but they remained confused. I looked at the guards, at the gazebo, and then at the still, cloaked figure. What did I have to lose? "I'll try it for a month," I said.

"A month," she echoed. "The terms I suggested make that possible - you can leave at the end of a month, taking your tradebar -"

"Half-tradebar," I said.

"You get a half-tradebar at the start of each month," she said. "So, I'd pay you your second-half-tradebar, and then you'd leave. According to the terms I suggested. Yes?"

I blinked. She was right. I hadn't thought it through. "Yes," I said, a little more enthusiastically. "Yes. That ... that will do."

"I'll write up the contract in the morning," she said. "Oh. You'll have to submit to a body search on entering the harem for the first time, you know." She nodded towards the guards. "It's their responsibility to be certain ... you'll need to prove you're male."

"You think I might be a woman in disguise," I asked, trying to make a joke.

"What do I know of humans?" she said. "You say you aren't ... but ..."

"But?"

"Well," she said with a sigh. "I was hoping for someone ... a little more masculine. Not that you aren't just fine," she added quickly. "But ..."

"I see," I said, a little stung.

"Well, my guards are wondering, I know, and my grandmother's going to be upset enough when she finds out I've hired a human that ... well. It will give her one less thing to complain about," she said, almost apologetically. "And it is proper, after all. The role of chaperon is as much about appearances as anything else."

I thought about it, and nodded. "Fine," I said, tightly. "Where I should I go tomorrow?"

The head tilted, the veil falling to the side. "Come tonight," she said. "I'm sure you're staying in the port area - aren't you?"

"Yes," I said, although ... I wasn't, really.

"Well, you won't be permitted to go down until dawn anyway," she said. "Come tonight, I'll send a runner for your things in the morning, we'll get the contract drawn up and signed ... oh, this is going to be fun!"

"Mmmm," I said. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Yes!" she said. "You'll have to follow my litter on foot - I'm sorry, but the litter is technically harem, and you can't enter that until ..."

"I'm searched, yes, I understand," I said. "I don't mind, I'd rather walk anyway."

"So would I," Rwence sighed. She stood gracefully, and one of the guards pulled the gauze of the tent apart for her. She drifted out, like a dream, into the cool night air, and I followed her, or at least I started to. A stern look let me know that I was supposed to go last, so I waited.

Rwenthlethance had a large sedan chair, carried by four of her guards, and the interior of that, too, was shielded from view. I got outside just as four of them were hefting it up onto their shoulders, and so I followed them through the streets. I'd expected the streets to be empty, but they weren't. The streets had been deserted in the heat of the day - now, in the warm, moonlit night, they were full of dark figures - tall gnolls standing above the shorter, stockier hobgoblins. I even saw another sedan chair, this one carried between two hobgoblins instead of four. One of Rwence's guards moved back as a gnoll eyed me speculatively, and the gaze passed on. I think.

The problem is, gnolls and hobgoblins can see perfectly well in the dark. I could make out figures, shapes, but none of the detail. It was eerie, and I wished - very hard - that I still had my sword. It didn't work; it never does, so all I could do was to follow Rwence's chair - I think I would have gotten lost without a guide, but then again, maybe it was the darkness. I do know that we always seemed to go uphill, up the bluff, the glittering towers of the Emir's Palace growing closer and closer until, paradoxically, they vanished behind the whitewashed walls gleaming in the moonlight. The traffic thinned, and then vanished, as we turned into narrower sidestreets that were more stairs than street. The hobgoblins carefully positioned themselves on the steepest parts, so that Rwence's litter stayed stable - the lead ones carrying at their waist, the two in back on their shoulders. About half-way up the block, they stopped, unlocked a large door that opened inwards, and went in. I'd expected ... I'm not sure what I expected.

I hadn't expected a small, low ceilinged empty room. They set the litter - more a sedan chair, really - down, but Rwence didn't get out. A candle flickered in a wall sconce, and, as my eyes adjusted to the darker room, I realized it wasn't entirely empty. There was a rack of clothes to one side, and the hobgoblins were changing their overcloaks - taking off the green silk, and replacing it with a violet overcloak, with crossed scimitars over a tower. I'd seen that somewhere, but I couldn't quite place it.

Another guard closed the door behind us, and then, instead of simply barring it, pulled a sliding stone wall in front of it, and then locked that into place. What was I getting into? Before I could ask, though, two guards stepped between me and the sedan chair, and another two assisted Rwenthlethance out, and opened another door, in the far side of the room. I hadn't seen the door, because it was less a door than simply a section of wall that pushed in and then rolled to the left. Those two guards, and then Rwence, stepped into the passage - only a few feet wide, and barely tall enough for the hobgoblins.

"Through there?" I asked.

"Yes," one of the remaining guards said. "No, not yet. Brez is last; you go after her," and five more went through the opening. The last guard - Brez, I supposed, gestured at me, so I stepped into the passage.

No, it wasn't a passage. This was a tunnel, stone-lined, about two paces wide and the roof was barely tall enough for a gnoll. That was fine for me, of course; a human's about a foot shorter, generally speaking, but the hobgoblins seemed a little cramped in the narrow space. It was dark and once Brez closed the entrance, it was totally black, so I stopped.

"Well?"

"I can't see in the dark," I said.

"You ... oh," the guard said. "Hmmm. Human. Right. There are some stairs down in a bit. Hold on," and she opened the door back up. There was a click, and then a flicker of candlelight. "Here. Take this," and she put a lit taper in my hand. "It shouldn't go out, but if it does, I can relight it." The wall rumbled closed again, and there was another rumble as that door was barred. "Okay, ... Mark, am I saying that right?"

"Yes," I said, peering at the tunnel in the tiny puddle of candlelight. It was pretty much as tight and narrow as I'd thought, but instead of being brick as I'd expected, the walls and floor were fitted stone. There wasn't even a ceiling, so to speak; the walls arched to a low peak. It wasn't rough, though; the stone was finished, even if the mortar was cracked in places. It was good work, and it reminded me of the long stairs up from Zhaskur Port to Upper Zhaskur.

"You've got enough light?"

"Yes," I said, although I didn't really, and I set off down the tunnel, carefully. The last thing I wanted to do was trip. The tunnel went on for ... quite a distance. It's hard to tell; it seemed like a long, long walk but it could have been a few hundred feet or a few thousand. That's the problem with tunnels; they've got a ubiquity that just makes judging distance hard. The candle had burned down maybe a half-inch before the tunnel came to a set of spiral stairs going up. Again, the stairs were just barely large enough for a gnoll, and I wondered if they'd been built for gnolls or ... someone else. The stairs were a little steep and a few inches too high for a human, so my calves were feeling a mild twinge when I reached the top of the stairs.

The stairs came out in a huge foyer. A tripod-arrangement had a huge half-foot plug of intricately-tiled flooring hanging from an iron ring set in the plug. As soon as Brez was up, the three guards still there wheeled the tripod carefully back over the hole, and a moment later, there was nothing but a heavy iron ring in the floor to suggest that there was anything special about that section of floor. Brez joined the others in moving a large potted fern into the corner - and suddenly it looked exactly like every other corner of the room.

The room itself was large. An ornate fountain surrounded by a pool of water gave off soft water-splash noises, more than enough to cover the soft ticks of the tripod's re-assembly into a lamp stand - not that that was loud, or even took longer than a minute. When the guard doing it was done, I couldn't even tell it came apart, and then the three guards looked at Brez, and nodded at me.

"They already went ... you're with me ..." and Brez and the speaker played a quick game of stone-hide-shears - Brez won, and then lost against a second guard.

He - she? - lost the next game, against the last guard who, just said "Yes!" That guard turned to me. "Okay - eh, Mark, right? - this is your last chance to admit you're not male. If you're not. So do. If you're not, I mean."

"I'm male," I said. "If that's what you're asking."

"Okay," the guard said, and led me - trailing the other three guards - into a bathing chamber directly off the entry. Like the entry, it had a tall celing, and more elaborate tiling on the floor. Interestingly, there were more of those huge potted ferns, and two more of the lamp stands. Brez and the other two began filling the sunken tub - almost a small pool - with water. "Strip," and the guard began taking his own clothes off, and laying them carefully out on a table. "Come on."

"Uh ... why are you stripping ..."

The guard sighed. "Because this is where you prove you're male, so you can enter the harem. Come on, I heard Illustrious Rwenthlethance tell you you'd have to do this. Don't make it hard. Besides, all you have to do is stand. I do the washing."

"I can wash myself!"

"I'm sure you can," the hobgoblin replied. "But that's not the way this works. This is an inspection."

"Yeah, okay," I grumbled. "I suppose it kind of makes sense." I shucked my clothes a little more carelessly than the guard and then I turned around to watch as the guard got into the pool.

"What ..." I started, and then stopped. He - she? - didn't have a penis. Just ... a small pucker, but ... no scars, such as a eunuch would have.

I guess the guard saw my confusion. "I'm not male or female," the guard said. "Hobgoblins can be male, or female, or herm - that's both male and female - or neuter. We're neuter, in fact, most of the hobgoblins you see are neuter."

"Oh," I said, swallowing. "I ... I didn't know that." I got down into the pool; the water was warm, but not too hot. "That's ... well. Strange, I guess." That didn't sound good. "Um. That's not what I meant. I meant, it's strange to me. I didn't mean to ..."

"Offend?"

"No," I said, standing very still as the guard behind me spread flowery-smelling soap over me, and began washing. It actually felt pretty good; I'd been hoarding my last few coins and I'd gotten pretty dirty over the last few days. Lucky for me that even the cheap places I'd been staying had been clear of bugs. "I'm sorry if I have; I did not mean to offend you."

"Not offended," the guard behind me said. "I don't think any of us are. Dalt? Ream? Brez?"

They all responded negatively.

"There you go," the guard, kneeling down to get at my ass and legs; he - she -

"Um, when I'm talking about you, should I use he or she." I managed not to say or it. It just sounded offensive, even in gnoll.

"She," Brez said, quellingly, and I was glad I'd managed not to use that third pronoun.

"She," I repeated. "Got it. Thank you." After all, I was going to be working with these ... neuters. I might as well try to get off on the right foot with them! "I'm sorry I don't know much about hobgoblins, or even gnolls, really."

"No, really?" one of the other guards - Dalt or Ream - I didn't know which yet.

"Yes, really," I said, looking right at her. "I'm sorry, are you Dalt or Ream?"

"Ream," she said. "And the one in the water is Thod. Lucky Thod."

"Moderately lucky," Thod said absently, dabbing at my face with the washcloth, and then working her way down over neck and chest. She wasn't just using the washcloth, and she ran a finger over each nipple. Damn it! I could feel parts of myself tightening, and I shifted my stance, widening it a little, before I realized I was doing it. "Ah," she said. "Yes. Good."

"Satisfied, then?" I asked, steadfastly not looking down at what I knew was a quickly hardening erection.

"No," the hobgoblin said, drawing out the word, brushing my dick not-quite-accidentally. This slickness of the slightly soapy water caused the sensation of the brief touch to linger, and I felt my dick jump, a little. She - it was easier and easier to think of the neuter hobgoblin as a she - ran a hand over my thigh as an appreciated prelude to gripping my balls. It wasn't much warning, but I was prepared for it when it happened.

Well, I thought I was prepared. There just isn't a more sensitive part of a man's body. Dick? As sensitive, maybe, but generally ... that feels good. The balls are different; having someone grip them is knowing that person has you, quite literally, by the balls. It doesn't take much to hurt a man there, and I was relieved that all she seemed to be doing was holding them - very carefully, bless her - and rolling them around, gently, gently, gently.

"Lovely," the hobgoblin whispered, and my dick jumped again. It does that, and the pressure around my balls increased just a small but noticeable amount.

"So," I said, trying to stay calm with a throbbing hard-on and being watched - I'm not sure how to put it - intently, maybe - by the other guards. It was strange - more than strange, it was eerie, and it was creeping me out. Not enough to interfere with the hard-on, unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, since this was supposed to be some kind of prove-I'm-male kind of thing. Fortunately, yeah, given the way there were looking at me - fortunately. I hadn't bothered to ask what would happen if I failed the test, and ... I suddenly didn't think that would be a good idea at all. Not that that would be at issue, I mean, I am male.

Damn it. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists, and just waited.

And that meant that when a warm wetness closed around my dick, I jumped - or at least tried to, but my body just wouldn't do that with the firm hand around my balls. Thank the Gods for that! I kept my eyes closed - somehow the thought of my manhood in a mouth with those spiked teeth ... I didn't want to think about it; despite the thought, I couldn't feel them - just warm, wet, slick ... damn it, what was she doing? Well, obviously I knew what she was doing - and doing very well, I might add - really, really well. It'd been quite a while since I'd had any companionship of this sort - I hadn't wanted to get involved with any of the sailors, and then I was really counting my coins in port, and I hadn't had a lot of privacy, either, and oh gods that felt good ...

I don't know how she knew, but she found a rhythm that was just incredible with her tongue and mouth and ... I thought I should warn her. "If you keep doing that I'm going to shoot," I said, hoarsely. It's not that I was having trouble breathing, exactly. She didn't stop, or even slow down, but that was as much of a reply as I needed at that moment, and I came with a shuddering gasp, and I could feel my loins tightening as my seed came pulsing out. It had been quite a while, and I just stood - and then I staggered a little as she let me go.

"Congratulations," the hobgoblin said, standing up. "You're male." The hobgoblin gave me a very quick smile. "And thanks."

I just nodded. "Sure," I said. "Anytime."

"No," Thod said, seriously. "Not anytime. I was only allowed now."

"Oh," I said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean ... I don't know. That was very ... uhm, pleasant."

I ignored the moment of quiet snickering from the other guards, although Thod just shook her head.

"Thank you," she said. "I enjoyed it." The snickers just got louder. She looked up at them, and said, loudly, "They're just jealous."

"That's right," Ream shot back. "We are. You finished in there, or what?"

Thod shrugged. "Yes. Mark. Listen to me: there are magical ... wards throughout the harem. Once you're officially part of the harem, you won't have to worry about them."

"Most of them," Brez said.

"We'll worry about that tomorrow," Thod continued. "The wards are at the doors and entries - you're fine when you're in a room. Don't go from room to room without one of us, okay?"

"Okay," I said.

"And there are two places we'll have to carry you over the threshold," Thod continued.

I looked at her uncertainly. "Carry?"

"I'm serious. Deadly serious." Thod said, warningly. "You will trigger the wards. And that would be bad."

"Very bad," one of the others - I wasn't watching, so I wasn't sure who said it, but it might have been Dalt, since she spoke up next.

"Please believe us. We're responsible for your safety; if you trigger a ward ... well, you won't enjoy it, and we'll have failed our owner." Dalt tapped a foot on the tile. "Come on, Thod."

"Right," Thod said.

I stepped out of the pool, and reached for my clothes, but Ream and Brez just picked me up - I could have dodged them, but ... what was the point? They'd warned me, although ... "My clothes," I started to say.

"Don't worry about them," Thod said. "You're not cold, are you?"

"No ..."

"Don't worry about them," she repeated, and by this time, they'd carried me out through an arch, and set me down. Thod pointed to the arch. "That's a entrance to the harem. See the sudden change in the tile?" I looked, and the blue squares and octagons of the bathing chamber shifted to red-and-green hexagons. "Anytime the tile colors change suddenly, there may be a ward." Thod paused. "Not always. But it's a reminder. It won't matter, not after tomorrow, you'll be able to come and go as you please, but ... not until then."

"Okay," I said, and they led me deeper into the harem. I suppose I'd expected something more ... confined, walled-in, but the rooms were large, often open to the night sky, and I glimpsed what looked like balconies, in rooms we passed, although I couldn't really see what they opened onto. The door we finally arrived at was distinguished only by the two hobgoblin guards - new ones, in heavier armor, and with drawn swords. There wasn't any conversation between them that I saw, but they nodded, and I got picked up, and carried through the door again.

The room didn't seem worth it, and my eyes adjusted slowly to the dark. Something - a stone - glowed very softly in the wall, and that was the only source of light. I could hear breathing, but I couldn't see, not yet; I just had to wait for my eyes to adjust to the light. The room gradually became visible. Small, it was small, especially when compared to the cavernous rooms we'd gone through earlier. Less of a room, and more of a closet. Much of the space was taken up by a fairly large bed. A white-pelted gnoll was sitting up, partially leaning on a pillow, looking at me. He was just as naked as I was, and small. I mean, I'd seen gnolls; they're six, seven feet, and although they don't look stocky they still weigh about as much as a hobgoblin does and they're way more dangerous, or so said common knowledge. I'd never fought either.

This one was maybe five foot six, and he might weigh about half of what I did. He didn't look particularly frail - his body had the tight definition of a duelist - but what was he ...

Oh. Rwenthlethance. Not she. He.

Their was another hobgoblin in the room, sword out, watching me, from the corner. I hadn't heard him - her - at all, and I took a step back.

"Oh, she won't hurt you," Rwence said, and yawned. "Humans sleep at night, don't you?"

"Usually," I said.

"Good," the gnoll said, and curled up around the pillow. "Come sleep."

"Here?"

"Yes," came the reply, muffled by the pillow.

That seemed ... strange. "Uh. Why?"

"Because I was up this morning at dawn, and instead of going to bed I went to meet you," Rwence said, without getting up. "The guard is there because the guard is always there. It's not about you. I can't let you wander the harem until you're official, I can't make you official until I draw up a contract, and I can't do that until dawn and I've slept. Have I missed anything?"

"You can't draw a contract until dawn?"

"I need really strong light to draw the contract," Rwence said around another yawn. "And ... the kaffe is wearing off. And I really can't take any more."

"Kaffe?" I asked, still confused.

Brez, who with Ream had carried me past whatever ward was on the threshold, answered. "It's a stimulant. Did you require more from us, Incandescence?"

"Oh," Rwence said. "I forgot you were waiting," and he rolled over. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day. No. You're dismissed - is anyone else still out there, probably, they're dismissed too. Thank you."

"We serve, Incandescence," Brez and Ream said together, and withdrew.

"Incandescence?" I asked. What the hell kind of title was Incandescence?

The gnoll groaned from the bed. "Can we talk about this tomorrow, Mark? I know, I know, I wanted someone to talk to ... but I really have to sleep. And ..." he stopped.

I sighed, and laid down on the bed. "And?"

"Tomorrow," the word came, very quietly. And then, "Lights out." The glowing stone didn't flicker, just dimmed until the darkness was absolute.

I don't remember falling asleep, although I do remember that the gnoll - Rwence - curled up to me at some point. His fur was soft, and I didn't want to wake him up. He hadn't paid me yet, after all. And he didn't ... try anything. He just rolled over, and then, sort of spooned into me. I'd say it was very trusting, but just because I couldn't hear that armed guard breathing, didn't mean I didn't know she was there, and I was sure she was watching me, the door, everything - sword out, and ready. Why did Rwence need that kind of security? Not from me. Wards?

I don't remember waking up, either. It's just that there was light seeping in around the bottom of the door, enough to see a hobgoblin guard, but Rwence was gone. I jumped up, off the bed, and the hobgoblin - Dalt - spoke. "You can put these on."

"Thanks," I said. These were a matching gray silk tunic and pants with silver frogging along the pants seams and the tunic closure, and a pair of soft gray silk slippers that were too large, so I just went barefoot until I could find my sandals.

Dalt nodded. "The Incandescence said to bring you, when you woke, so you could sign the contract."

"Contract?"

"That binds you to his service, and will cause the wards to recognize you," Dalt said.

"Binds?" I didn't like the sound of that, and some of my concern must have leaked into my voice.

"Yes," the hobgoblin said, with a touch of irritation in his voice. "It's a binding contract, after all. The Incandescence will explain; it's not my place to do so."

Thinking back, the words binding contract had indeed been used; I'd thought she - he, he - he'd meant a legally binding contract. "Yes," I said. "That's right. I guess I'm still waking up." I did the buttons on the tunic quickly, and turned to face the door, and the morning.

Two corridors and a turn past a large pool was a balcony - I might have passed it last night, but it was hard to know. Last night, all I could see were stars. This morning, I could see down into Zhaskur port, and the intensely blue ocean that stretched away from the bluffs like some shimmering azure dream. The balcony itself extended almost fifty feet away from the cliff, and I looked up. The palace glowed yellow and pink in the morning sun. Oh, shit. The palace! Rwenthlethance himself was dressed in blue pants like mine, and nothing else. In the light, his pelt wasn't merely white, it was silver, with a golden glow, as if it were picking up sunlight itself. He sat on a tall stool at a tremendous wood easel - no, not an easel, a desk. Another table, filled with jars and brushes sat on his left side, and he was carefully drawing something. I walked over to see what he was doing.

He was drawing ... a contract, I supposed. I mean, I can read, not too badly, but these letters were gnollish script, not wolven, and ornate to the point of illegibility in addition to being upside down. "This isn't my contract, is it?"

"Oh, no." Rwence's soft voice said. "I did that earlier," and he gestured to the table. "It's by the teapot. This is for my grandmother; it's ... well. I shouldn't really discuss it with you until you've signed. Have some tea and mindus. Read it over. I think I've got everything covered, but ... well, it's trivial to change it before we sign it. Afterwords ... well, what would be the point of a contract that could change?"

"It's magical, isn't it. It constrains me to do what it says," and I tried to keep the criticism out of my voice.

"It constrains both of us," Rwence answered, still patiently drawing, "to the terms of the contract. Go read it. We pretty much agreed on the terms last night, it's all there."

"That's all that's there?" I asked.

"Yes," Rwence said. "It's hardly worth putting a binding contract over, but that the only way to get the wards to recognize you." He changed brushes, and inks. "Well. I think. Unless you can swear a binding oath."

I poured myself some tea - broth, and picked up a piece of ... lamb? Beef? Some kind of red meat, smelling of vinegar and heavily spiced. I took a bite; it was ... strange, but not bad. Lamb, I think it was lamb. The broth was hot, but not salty. I'd have to see if I could get some ... less gnollish food. Whoa. That was assuming I was staying. "You mean a magically binding oath," I asked, as much to wonder where that thought had come from as anything else. I mean, staying?

"Yes," the gnoll said absently, still working. "All the hobgoblins swear oaths of obeisance to their owner in front of an oathmaster. Although ... I don't know if an oathmaster can preside over a non-hobgoblin oath. I think not, now that I actually think about it."

"Why not?"

"Because they hire me to draw up contracts between them - goblins, that is - and others. Binding contracts. And if they could just oath the contract ... that would save them a lot of money. And goblins are all about money."

"And gnolls aren't?" That came out a little sarcastically, and almost as soon as I'd said it, I wished I hadn't.

"Not in the same way," Rwence said, apparently not taking offense. "Goblins like to bargain, and get the better of the bargain, and make you know they outsmarted you. We want food, shelter, and safety, pretty much in that order, and if money gets us that, then we want money. Goblins want your money, because it's yours." He chuckled, a very strange sound indeed, like the giggle of a giant. "Gnolls are much simpler."

"Oh?"

"Mmm," he said. "You can still turn this down, you know. Read. If you decide the terms are acceptable, sign."

"In blood, I presume."

"Blood would be required if the signature was coerced; if you didn't understand - or have the opportunity to understand - all the terms. Such as they are. I'm here to answer any questions, you have the time to read the contract, and you can, if you like, walk away." Rwence shrugged, dipping the brush into ink before continuing on the elaborate document in from of him. "In other words, it's not coerced. And so all that's needed to seal the contract is your completed intent to seal it - signing. Ink is fine." He drew a few more lines. "And even a blood-signed contract that's been coerced can be broken. I wouldn't chance such a thing, even if I approved of coerced contracts, which I most certainly do not."

I started reading. It was, pretty much, what we discussed last night. There was a confidentiality clause, lasting beyond the end of the contract, but it wasn't unreasonable. The money ... was generous, I had to admit. The duties were a little vague. Confidant. Advise and protect. Harem duties as assigned. Pretty much what we'd discussed last night. I stared at it for a minute.

"I'll want human food," I said finally.

Rwence nodded. "Reasonable. I'll let the kitchens know." He paused, thinking. "It might be a little ... strange. At first."

"Why?"

The silver gnoll sighed. "Because they're not used to making it."

"So if I read this right, I basically just ... hang out with you?"

"It's a little more than that," Rwence said. "You're pledged to my defense. And ... I know you've been ... elsewhere. I want ... I want to hear all about your travels. What you've done. Where you've gone." He let out another sigh. "I ... well. I don't get out much." There was a longer silence, although he clearly wasn't done talking. "I don't think I'll ever get out much. I'm hoping for some ... vicarious adventure, I suppose."

"Oh," I said, staring back at the contract.

"And ..." he said, after a moment. "I started to tell you last night, but, I was too sleepy to get through the conversation. The notice you saw. It was calligramancy. Very nice, if I do say so myself. It ... it seems to have worked really well, although I suppose forgetting to specify that I wanted a gnoll was ... an oversight."

"Calligramancy?"

"Gnoll magic. The magic of words and intent and statements," said Rwenthlethance. "My magic. I'm very good at it. I ... wrote that notice very carefully. Only someone I could ... like ... would see it. And someone ... free to like me. That is, not ... owing a House or another any deep loyalty."

Yeah, that was me, free as a bird. "So anyone else wouldn't notice it?"

"No. They'd see a reward notice for a lost parrot," Rwence said, absently. "I wanted someone actually friendly." He looked up from the desk briefly, and smiled. "Someone who wouldn't care who my grandmother was - or would even see it as a drawback. Male, because ... I'm tired of being used by females. I don't care if they're fertile; I'm tired of servicing them." He grimaced. "Most of them are just well connected brutes who've managed to impress my grandmother. And they treat me like ... well." He paused.

"That's a question," I said. "Who is your grandmother?"

"The Emir."

"Where's your mother?"

"Dead."

"I'm sorry," I said automatically.

"I never knew her," Rwence said. "Grandmother claimed me, and ... well. She's very indulgent, I suppose. I've never been sure if that was because I was silver, or ... just because." He looked around. "Understand, Mark, she's just my owner. A good one, I've heard ... well, I have very few complaints." He turned back to the parchment he was working on. "When I was young, I saw her once a month, or so, when she came to my sword lessons."

"So you're not important to her?

"I'm very important to her," Rwence said. "I'm silver, so my bloodline is Zhaskur. There are only four other breeding silvers. I'm also one of the best calligramancers in the city, and absolutely the best at binding contracts." He paused. "I suppose what I'm saying is that she isn't that important to me. When she passes on - may her life be long and fruitful - one of my aunts will take the Palace as Emir. Assuming that aunt isn't too old, she'll either have mates or sons, and the harem will be a little less deserted. That, I think I'd like. Although ... I'd rather put it off for as long as possible."

"Oh," I said. "But you'll stay here?"

"Yes," Rwence said, almost resignedly. "I'll still be valuable, still silver, still a talented calligramancer, still ... important to the Emir."

"Oh," I said. "So ... how is your grandmother going to feel about having a human in her harem?"

"She'll whine about it, I imagine, and eventually forget about it because it doesn't really matter," the gnoll said quietly. "She's the Emir, for as long as she can hold the title, and everything she does ..."

"Wait," I said. "As long as she holds the title?"

"Yes," Rwence said, not looking at me. "One of her daughters will kill her, and then there will be a brief battle between some others of my aunts, and then ... there will be a new Emir. Probably take about a week."

"That's horrible," I said.

"I suppose," Rwence said, getting up, and taking the page with him. He clipped it carefully to the other side of the easel, where several other pages were drying in the strong morning sunlight. "I'll miss my guards, though."

"Your guards?"

Rwence turned, suddenly angry for the first time. "Yes, of course! Didn't I tell you last night they belong to her? They're not mine, they're hers, and when she dies ... they die." The spurt of anger vanished. "Which I suppose is motivation enough for me to help keep her alive."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm new to Zhaskur, remember? I didn't know that ... why will they die?"

"They'll be forsworn," Rwence said, sounding unhappy. "They swore an oath to protect, obey, and keep her alive. Once she's dead - they're forsworn, and they'll die."

"That doesn't seem like a good way to do things," I said.

Rwence just shook his head, smoothing down a new sheet of parchment, and then starting the careful lettering with an iron pen. "The goblins think it provides motivation. Or perhaps it's just that it makes each new Emir buy an entirely new set of guards." he said, finally. "Is the contract acceptable?"

"I haven't actually finished it," I admitted, and went back to studying it. There wasn't much more, just a few clarifications, specification about the money, the cancellation clauses - all pretty much exactly what we'd discussed. The pause was more to think about actually committing myself to this. I went back, and scanned the cancellation clauses again. It seemed pretty clear that I could, if I wanted, back out, and then all that would happen is that I wouldn't be able to talk about it. That paragraph was clear too; I couldn't discuss my time here in any way, but no other period or subject was covered.

A year in the Emir of Zhaskur's very private harem. I don't think anyone had recognized me as Black Mark in the port, so nobody could connect Black Mark with the new harem attendant. The Duke's agents would trace me to Zhaskur, eventually. I was sure of that. But they'd assume I'd traveled on to Vulpa, look for me on a passenger list, and not finding it, assume I'd smuggled myself out of the city. After all, that's what I'd intended to do. Would they look here? Could they look here? Could they sneak into the warded harem? Past the ever-vigilant hobgoblins? I mean, I might be able to, but then, I'm Black Mark. I looked over the contract again. I wanted to be able to cut and run - might have to, really. And ... I could. If I had to. I looked at the payment again. For the best hiding place I could imagine, I was being paid twelve tradebars.

I suppressed a twitch of a smile. "It all looks good, Rwence. May I use a pen?"

"Yes," the gnoll said. "No changes? Really - once it's signed ..."

"I know," I said, and took the pen he offered, and signed it.

"Excellent," he said, and the silver-furred gnoll took the pen, and signed it with an elaborate flourish. "There," he said, with almost enthusiastic glee. "Fasl? Would give Mark the chest, please?"

"Yes, Incandescence," one of the hobgoblin guards replied, and picked up a polished cedar chest with bronze handles, and brought it over to me.

"Payment," Rwence said. "I was hoping you'd sign!"

I took the chest, and nearly dropped it - it was heavy! I set it down carefully, and opened it. I'd expected a tradebar - my payment for the first month. Instead, there were ... twelve tradebars. My payment ... for the year. I swallowed, my stomach feeling queasy suddenly. "Could ... could I see that contract," I said, "I want to check something?"

"Of course," said Rwence, and handed it back to me.

I went back over the cancellation and payment clauses. Yes. There it was. I was committed to staying if I accepted payment. The way the contract was written, I'd assumed that I'd be paid one tradebar at a time, monthly. But nothing specified when I had to be paid. Not a single word. By paying me upfront ... I'd lost my chance to cancel. "That's not a very friendly way to start this off."

"I told you to read the contract," Rwence said, turning back to the document he was lettering. "Repeatedly. I told you I'd answer questions about it. And if you want out, say so. I'll pay you off, and you're done. But this way, when my grandmother complains, I tell her I want to keep you through the paid-up period. I'm not playing games with you - I'm playing games with her."

"And she's OK with that?"

"That," Rwence said, "is my problem." He yawned. "So. You asked what this was, remember?"

"Vaguely. What is it?"

"It's an agreement between grandmother and goblins for another sixty-eight hobgoblins," Rwence said. "Part of our agreement with the goblins is that only the Emir is permitted to buy guards, so the Emir knows where all the oathed guards are, and ... and what they're oathed to, of course."

"All the hobgoblins are oathed?"

"No, just the guards," Rwence said. "Slaves are oathed, but part of their oath is that they are not permitted to take part in violence. They cannot be ordered to attack, or cause any harm to anyone. Anybody can buy hobgoblin slaves, but all slaves have to be oathed to a minimal slave oath - absolute obedience to their owner, and nonviolence. It's part of our agreement with the goblins."

I shook my head. "All the hobgoblins in the city are slaves?"

"No," Rwence said. "Some are guards."

"But they're all owned."

"Yes."

"But then doesn't that make them all slaves?"

"No," Rwence said, with a hint of exasperation. "It makes them owned. Don't they explain anything about the law in the port?"

"Not this," I said.

"Fine, fine," Rwence grumbled, and then took a breath. "Zhaskur is governed by Clan Zhaskur, and everything is owned by gnolls, usually females. Males can be sold into slavery, in which case they're slaves, before they come of age - thirteen. In which case, they're just slaves. Females can't be sold, but they're still owned by their mothers until their first blood, at which point they're adult."

"What about the visitors in the port?"

"Technically owned by the Emir."

"So I'm ... owned by the Emir." I didn't like that.

"No, you signed a contract with me, so I own you. You're not a visitor, you're a harem attendant."

I didn't like that even more. "So ... what does that mean? You can sell me?"

"No," Rwence said patiently. "It means I'm responsible for you. It means you can't be sold." He thought for a moment. "Gnoll uses owned and ownership to translate for the Russalkan vassalage and fealty. It's similar to the responsibility a Russalkan Duke would owe her knights, only more so, in the sense that any offense the knight committed must be answered for, personally, by the Duke."

"His knights. Duke is a male title. A woman is a Duchess."

Rwence shook his head. "Sorry. Not my first tongue."

"That's ... wait. The Emir isn't personally responsible for all the visitors. There's a port guard."

"Technically, they serve the Emir, and are permitted to serve the Emir's justice. Technically any foreigner arrested by the guard could claim a personal audience, but ... she'd just order them hung."

"Oh," I said. "So ..."

"You're better off taking whatever the Emir's magistrate orders. At worst, that's decapitation. Only the Emir can order someone hung, and that's a terrible way to die."

I paused. "It doesn't sound very good, but ... it's just a rope, and it's over in a few minutes."

Rwence looked up at me. "When the Emir orders someone hung, she's locked into a small iron cage, and suspended out over the bluff until she dies of exposure. Dehydration."

"Oh," I said. "That .. that does sound pretty bad."

"Mmm-hmmm," said Rwence, bending back over the parchment. "I'm going to be a while on this," he said. "And once I'm done, I'm planning on going back to sleep. You're welcome to wait here, or Dalt can show you around, or ... I can show you around, later. Nothing much happens in the palace until dusk, anyway. Only a few not-quite-sane folk are out during the day. Calligramancers. The unlucky guards on day-shift. Some workers."

"Everyone sleeps during the day?" I asked, just to make sure.

"Almost everyone other than me," the gnoll said. "It's quiet, and the light is perfect for this," he gestured at the paper. "So I'm up. If I'm up, some of the guards are up."

"We'd be on duty in any case, Incandescence," one of them said.

"Some of you, yes," agreed the gnoll. "But not all."

"Perhaps not, Incandescence."

"So it's up to you, I suppose," Rwence said.

"I'll wait," I said.

"Do you know, I was hoping you might," Rwence said, slowly, much of his attention clearly taken with the parchment. "This part is tedious, and it's nice to have someone to talk to who ... well, who doesn't end every sentence with 'Incandescence.'"

"What does that title mean?"

"I am the light of the clan," Rwence said. "It's traditional. The eldest male and female in the Emir's bloodline gets the title. Others in the direct line are 'Luminance.'" He snorted. "It wears. Please don't use it when we're in private."

"But in public?"

"The Emir's grandson does not appear in public," Rwence said, sounding artificially shocked. "Whatever are you suggesting? If you're wondering how a noble male venturing out of a harem might be addressed - the proper title is Illustrious. I've often wondered if it comes from calligramancy, actually, since so much of what we do is illustration."

"But ..."

"Yes," Rwence said. "My guards were dead-set against it. I merely pointed out they could assist me, in which case I'd let them handle the security and accompany me ... or I could sneak out all by myself."

"Ah," I said. "I take it that convinced them?"

"They're reasonable," Rwence said, putting down a brush and picking up a fine metal pen. "I started going out ... oh, five years ago. I own a number of little places now, a couple of stores, teahouses, even a theatre. Under an assumed name. Of course."

"So it's legal for ... males to own property?"

"Yes," Rwence said. "Well. For gnolls. You couldn't."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"No?" said Rwence, and he was quiet for a moment as he concentrated on drawing. "There. Now ... tell me about you."

"Me?"

"Sure, you," the gnoll said quietly. "What forces a mercenary out of his homeland, and makes him sell his sword?"

I jumped. "How did you know that?"

The pale gnoll shook his head as he put one brush down and picked up another, dipped it into a bright red ink. "Had to be. Only someone skilled with a war-weapon - someone who thought of himself as skilled with a war-weapon - and needing a job would see that notice." The gnoll paused. "Well, one or two other criteria, I suppose."

"What?"

"Male," Rwenthlethance said, after a moment. "And ... not objecting to males, either." Rwence turned his head and regarded me for a moment. "Specifically, a male who had lain with other males by choice, and not just coercion. Although I had gnolls in mind."

"I've never ..." I started angrily, and then stopped as the small gnoll turned quickly back to the document. "I've never done ... that."

"I suppose I could have made a mistake," Rwence said, hesitantly, to the sheet he was working on, presumably in the hope that I'd overhear it.

I paused. And Rwenthlethance seemed to be hunching over his desk. I'd upset him. I hadn't ... I hadn't ... He hadn't, damn it all. I had ... to get money ... and ... well ... but ... that was long ago. I looked at Rwence, huddled over his desk. Huddled? A wave of guilt hit me. He was so sheltered; so ... I wasn't sure what, but I can't say I was proud of what I'd said. And it wasn't even true. "No," I admitted. "I have. With men." A final mustering of determination provided, "By choice."

"Oh," said Rwence, straightening out a little. "One ... hears stories about the West, Rusalka, the Bole lands. I didn't know how much credence to give them. And ... after all, you did see the notice. So I ..." he paused, and took a breath. "I don't know what I hoped," he said. "I mean ..." He looked down, at the document, and shook his head. "This is nearly done," Rwence said. "Let me finish it. I don't want to be up later than I have to."

Finishing took Rwenthlethance another half-hour or so, and he was yawning as he did. When he was done, he put all twelve pages onto something like a complicated hanger. Each page was set into a frame, held in by dainty wooden clips, almost like an easel without a top. It was clearly just for letting the pages dry, and then Rwence covered the collection of pages with a heavy black cotton canvas covering - only it covered the whole framework, open at the bottom and covered with a lid that overhung the actual covering, so that air could flow in.

"The sun heats it, and sets the ink," Rwence explained as he was covering it. "But direct sunlight would fade the ink, especially before it's signed." He yawned again, and looked up at the sun - it had to be mid-morning, I thought. "It's getting hot. I'm going to bed. Anyway, we don't have to be up until it's fully dark. Although I know we had that nap."

Nap? "You sleep in the day, don't you," I said.

"It's too hot to do anything in the day," Rwence said, sounding surprised. "I mean, for some things I just have to do in the morning, I need the light, but ..." he gestured, up, at the blazing blue of the sky. "It's just too hot," he said again. "Um. You ... sleep at night?"

"Most humans do," I said.

"That's just not practical here," Rwence said, and started walking back inside. "Really. Once we go into the palace it will be cooler, but it still heats up." The small gnoll gave me a tooth-hidden grin. "Our bedroom is down where it's cool!"

Our?

Apparently I'd said it out loud, because the gnoll stopped, and shook his head. "Yes. Our. Is that a problem?"

"Well ... no," I said.

"I'm glad something isn't," Rwence muttered.

I'd expected us to go back to the little room we'd had earlier, but this time the guards - and it was the hobgoblins who were leading us, not Rwence - took us another way, down into the passages of the palace, down a long flight of stairs and into ... another tiny room, much like the one we'd had earlier. In fact, it looked almost exactly like the one we'd abandoned earlier, but the quilt on the bed was different. The bed looked the same - felt the same, when I got onto it - and finally I asked "So, what's the difference?"

"Difference?" Rwenthlethance asked from where he was laying on his side. "What difference?"

"Between this and the other room?"

"Other room?"

"The other bedroom. Don't tell me this is where we spent the night; I know better than that."

"Oh. That. It's bad luck to sleep in the same room twice in a row," Rwence said.

"Bad luck?"

"That, and it makes it easy for assassins to find you." Rwence paused. "Well. Easier, I suppose."

I digested that for a moment. It was, actually, very true. "How many bedrooms do you have?"

The small gnoll looked askance at me. "More than two," he said, after a moment. "It's bad luck to count them."

"Because that way the assassins don't know if they've found them all?"

Rwenthlethance nodded. "Yes."

I paused, not really sure how to ask the next question. "Are assassins really after you?"

Rwence shifted his head thoughtfully. "Probably not. But, who can tell?" He looked at me. "They don't tell you when they're after you, after all, so it's safer ..."

"To assume they are."

"Mmm-hhhmmm," Rwence agreed/

"So there are a lot of assassins?"

Rwence shrugged. "Who know? There are some. Sometimes nobles drop dead. Could be poison. The ones with knives in them are more obvious. It happens once, twice a year, when our particularly murky politics get ... murkier. I don't think I'm a target, but my grandmother is." He paused. "I think my mother was poisoned," he added, calmly.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It was a long time ago. And my grandmother raised me." He looked around the tiny room. "More or less. So to speak." There was a silence. "Not really."

"Then who ..."

"They did, of course," Rwence said, gesturing tiredly at the lone hobgoblin in the room. "All of them."

"Part of the contract," the hobgoblin volunteered. I peered at her in the dark. I couldn't make anything out; the room was dead dark, but the voice ... the voice sounded ... was that Dalt?

"You're ... Dalt?" I asked, finally. "I'm sorry, I can't see ..."

"Yes," she said. "But I'm on duty. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," I said. "I appreciate it. I need to learn a lot more about this. So ... it was part of your contract? Does ... did he know?"

"Yes, I knew," Rwenthlethance said, and took a long breath. "I mean, my Grandmother is the Emir. She's busy ruling, trying to keep the city together. It's not ... not easy to do." He yawned. "Sorry."

"For?"

"Tired," Rwence sighed, and he sounded tired, I thought.

I patted his side. "S'fine."

"Mmm," the gnoll said, and I could feel him move into a prone position. I nearly jumped when someone - Dalt, of course - tapped my shoulder. She'd been by the door when it closed, shutting off the tiny bit of light that came through the hallway, and I wondered how someone that large and that heavily armored could move so quietly. It's not easy to move silently when you're wearing chain, or carrying more than one weapon, I knew that very well. She was holding something, and I took it gingerly - flat, with a strap, about the size of my palm, and on the other side - soft spikes?

"Here," she said. "This will help him sleep."

"What ... oh, that would be nice, if you don't mind," Rwence said, twisting around. Presumably he could see what I was holding, even if I couldn't. I could tell this see-in-the-dark thing was going to be a problem, eventually.

"I don't mind," I said, puzzled. "But ... what is this?"

"It's a brush," Rwence said, and I understood, even before his next words, "you put the ..."

"I get it," I said, pulling it on, and started pulling the brush carefully through Rwenthlethance's pelt; it slipped through the gnoll's fur - hair? - easily. Again, I wasn't surprised. Thick as it looked, it was undoubtedly well maintained, and the ease with which I brushed him just confirmed that. Rwence sighed, happily.

"That's very relaxing," he mumbled.

I kept up the brushing, slow, until his breathing steadied and Dalt said in a low voice, "He's asleep."

"His breathing?" I asked.

"Yes," said the guard, sounding approving. "You may not realize it, but he's had a long and difficult day."

"Oh," I said.

"You know how tiring weapons training is, or at least I assume you do," Dalt continued.

"Yes," I said.

"Working magic is just as hard," the hobgoblin said flatly. "It might not look like it - and when the Incandescence does it, he makes it look easy - but that's just because he's good. It's tiring work, and the Incandescence did two contracts this morning. Yours probably wasn't that hard, but the goblin contract - those are complicated. Usually he won't do more than one or two a week at the most, and he takes his time, two, three nights to do them."

"Oh," I said, again. Why ... "Why are you telling me this? I mean, I appreciate it, but ..."

"Because it will help you serve him," Dalt answered. "Which you are sworn to do. I'm guessing you've never really encountered magic or magicians before."

"No," I said, which wasn't entirely true, but it was true enough. I hadn't, for instance, known that working magic was tiring, although ... it made sense, now that I thought about it. "Not really."

"If you're working for a magician, then you need to know a little about magic," Dalt said.

That was ... true. I did. "I do," I said, "and I appreciate your telling me, even if it's just for his benefit."

"Mainly for his benefit," said Dalt. Mainly? What part wasn't? And who was it for? I thought about that for a moment, and said, "I probably need to know a lot of things. And I probably don't even know enough to ask about what I need to know, so ... anything you can tell me would be ... good. If you can tell me."

There was a chuckle in the dark. "I can only tell you what I know. The Incandescence does not confide in us, because we are sworn to the Emir, not to him."

"So you'd tell the Emir anything?"

"Everything," Dalt corrected. "We serve her. Not him."

"And he doesn't mind that?"

There was a brief pause. "I do not know. It is the way it is, and it can be no other way. The Incandescence himself drew up the contracts purchasing us. We are oathed to serve. I would point out ... he hired you. You serve him, not her. So ... perhaps it does perturb him."

"But there's ..." I paused as my thoughts caught up with me. "Oathed to serve? Magically?"

"Yes. Our verbal oath, before an oathmaster, is as binding on us as the contract the Emir signed with the goblins for our service binds the Emir and the goblins. And as the contract you signed binds you."

"What ... what are you oathed to do? Can you tell me?"

"To preserve the Emir's life, to obey the Emir in spirit, to obey the Emir in word, to speak when I have words of import, to hold my silence as my service," recited Dalt.

"What happens if you don't?"

"I cannot break my oath, human, by act or lack of act, by word or by silence. My oath will be broken only when I die."

"Or when the Emir dies?"

"When the Emir dies, I will be forsworn, and die in that same moment," Dalt said calmly. "There is no or. It is the same thing."

"Wait," I said. "If ..."

"If the Incandescence dies, will you die? That was not his intent, so I imagine not. But you should read your contracts more carefully, or better, have a legate examine them."

I paused; that hadn't been what I'd been thinking, but now ... I really wanted to read that contract again. "No, I mean, if you die, then who ..." my voice trailed off. "Me," I said, answering my own question.

"Who does what?"

"Serves as bodyguard, of course," I said, perturbed. "That means ... it's just me."

Dalt rustled ever so faintly, moving in the darkness of the room, from by the door, to the bed. "That is a thought ... worthy of one who would serve the Incandescence. Perhaps he was right to trust his magic."

This was new. "Trust his magic? Why wouldn't he?"

"The Incandescence knows we will fall when the Emir does, and he is younger - much younger, than she. And so he set his magic to bring him ... assistance in that moment. The Incandescence told you he had set magic in the notice you saw, that only one - or ones - who might have the skills and talents to help him would see it properly. And so when he heard that a human had come in answer ... he was baffled, but finally, he decided to ... accept that was what he needed."

That stung. "You disagreed?"

"You say you are a human sell-sword," Dalt said, again with a calmness that I wondered about. "But we have seen such, before. Those who are good, have weapons."

I didn't, of course.

"And even those who are good ... are loyal to their pay, more than their employer," Dalt continued. "I do not criticize; for a sell-sword's position is different than a slave's. Perhaps you are something special."

"Me?"

A faint whisper of sandals against the ground told me Dalt had moved back to the door. "Yes," she said finally. "You are not a typical sell-sword."

Well, that was true. I was more of a ... for-hire contractor. "I'm used to more short-term assignments." Contracts, I thought to myself. "But other than that, I'm fairly typical."

"I do not think I believe that a typical human sell-sword can follow someone moving in the dark," Dalt said.

"What?"

"I am not dark-blind, and your head turns as I move," Dalt said, with that same calmness. "You are tracking me. I do not think that is typical of the dark-blind. Either you are pretending to be dark-blind, or else you have taught yourself to be competent in the dark."

"I doubt I'd be a match for you in the dark," I said, because it was entirely true: I had taught myself how to work in the dark.

"I doubt you'd be a match for me in the light," Dalt said.

"I might surprise you."

"Perhaps," she said, and then neither she nor I felt like speaking further.

Dalt woke us both up. I was hoping for something to eat, but apparently Rwenthlethance only has cool tea in the evening, which turned out to be a cool broth of something gamy cut with onions and herbs. It wasn't a bad thing to start with, but I would have liked some bread or porridge or something a little heartier. Rwence and I bathed in flower-scented water - gardenia, Rwence called it - and it wasn't strong enough to be a perfume, but ... it was strong enough, and both of us came out of the bath smelling like, well, gardenias, I suppose. I toweled myself off while two hobgoblins carefully combed and brushed Rwenthlethance, working some kind of silvery dust into his pelt, and then garbing him in pastel orange silk with elaborate green embroidery. The gnoll, for his part, just stood there, letting them dress him.

I dressed myself, thank you, although all of my old clothes vanished during the bath. The plain blue silk underwear was a little large, but the darker blue silk pants and matching shirt fit just fine. Or at least I thought they fit fine, the hobgoblin who'd brought them kept muttering and measuring me with a long string. It finally took Rwenthlethance, who was now wearing at least three layers of elaborate gauzy silk, to walk over, and explain firmly that "This will do for tonight, Albrith." They produced sandals for Rwenthlethance and myself.

"We're going to the armory," Rwence said. "It's not, unfortunately in the harem, so there will be some additional guards around."

"Why are we going to the armory?"

"I thought you needed a sword," Rwence said. "Don't you?"

"Yes," I said.

"And armor?"

"Some light armor, yes," I said. "But it has to be custom-fitted ..."

"Oh, that's not a problem," Rwence said blithely. "The armorer will do that. I'm more concerned about getting you a sword ... Brez told me that human swords are a little different than ours, but we should find something in the armory that suits you."

"Oh, I'm pretty handy with just about anything," I said.

I knew when we left the harem; our little troop of four hobgoblins were joined by another ten, and these ten wore the blue livery of the Emir rather than the violet of our guards. They surrounded us, and we moved on through the corridors. Here and there I heard gnolls, unhappy about the corridor being unavailable at the moment, but I never saw them, not behind the standing hobgoblin guards. "I didn't realize this would be such a production," I said to Rwence.

He just shrugged. "Of course it is a production, as you put it. Everyone who sees it, who is inconvenienced, who tells another about how the Emir's guard stopped them for ... it is the advertisement of power, and privilege, and the reminder that the power is hers and hers alone."

I thought about that as we entered the armory - I'd expected something like an armory back in Russalka. A blacksmith, maybe two, a forge, and swords and armor in various quantities, organized somewhere between neatly and not-so-neatly.

The Emir's armory was off the side of a large mirrored salle, and the room was huge. Quarrels, arrows, and lead shot in barrels were stacked neatly, and I could see more rooms opening from this one. More hobgoblin guards were stationed at the doors, swords out, and I wondered, briefly, if this was really all for Rwenthlethance. It seemed ... excessive, I thought, and then a gnollish voice drove the thought out of my mind. She'd been standing between two shelves, and I hadn't seen her in the dim light. "A human. How ... different. Does it know how to use a blade?"

"He says he does, Armsmaster," said Rwenthlethance.

"And you just believe him."

The silver gnoll shrugged. "Without a blade, who can tell?"

"Most persons conversant with weaponry ... have a blade," she said, eyeing me unpleasantly. "I'll admit he's femme, but ... swordsmanship?"

"What kind of blade would you prefer, Mark?" asked Rwence.

"A saber - thin, good steel with a sharp edge and point, flexible, with a slight curve, about -" and I spread my arms about halfway "- this long. And a second, smaller, sword, sharp on both sides, something like a long dagger. And some blades balanced for throwing - five or six, if you have them."

The gnoll tilted her head. "We have them, if you can use them," she said skeptically. "This way." She led the way deeper into the armory, through a room with bows and crossbows, and then into another, smaller room. Mounted on the wall were sabers, of varying shapes and sizes. "Here," she gestured. "Find something you like."

"Thank you," I said, and I took down several before I found one with curve and heft I wanted. "This will do."

"Hmmm," she said, and pulled down another one, one I hadn't touched. I thought at first she was going to offer it to me, but she just said, "This way," and we went through another couple of rooms full of swords and rapier thrusting-type weapons, into a room with trays of short, simple daggers. She stopped. "These might do for throwing."

I set the saber down, carefully, and picked up a five-inch throwing knife. It was hard steel, sharp but not honed to the razor edge it could take, and the balance was ... perfect. I took ten of them; throwing daggers tend to get left behind when you're in a hurry, and these were lovely. She didn't say anything, other than handing me a cloth to wrap them in.

Another room, a set of stairs down, and we were in a room full of odder weapons - short, straight, curved, but all daggers, of one sort or another. "You might find the longer dagger you wanted in here," she said. "If not, we'll talk with our blacksmith."

"These are ..."

"Things we've confiscated from outlanders, mostly," she said. "Humans, vulpa. Although mostly we just toss the vulpa stuff, it rusts unless you coat it in grease, and it's too small, mostly."

"The small I knew about, I didn't know it rusted," I said, looking through the collection. "The only one I've seen close up was ... nice, I thought, took a sharp edge and wasn't stiff. I've never seen Russalkan steel like that."

"It's terrible metal," she said, disapprovingly. "And yes, it's a nice blade for a year or two, but the slightest amount of damp, and it rusts. Leave blood on it for more than a few minutes - and it not only rusts, but the entire blade stains." She looked meaningfully at Rwenthlethance, although I had no idea what the meaning was.

"You only need a blade to be good in a fight," I said, looking at a dagger that, if it had been two inches longer, would have nearly perfect. I set it aside, in case I couldn't find anything better. "If the fight is short - maybe it's worth trading a stronger, sharper blade for one that, uh, lasts longer." I discarded another dagger that was the right length but had the wrong balance and an uncomfortable grip, and then another, with the right length of blade, but a far too long hilt.

I kept looking, and I finally did find one that was almost perfect; the hilt had been wrapped in leather, and it was dry and cracked. The steel was sound, though, and once the grip was redone, it would be just right. "This," I said. "The grip needs to be repaired." The gnoll held out her hand for it, and I handed to her.

She inspected it quickly, and returned it to me with a brief, chilly smile. "Good. So. You claim you know how to use these." It wasn't a question.

"I won't embarrass myself, if that's what you mean."

She just nodded. "Then you have ... everything you need."

"Well, I want the grip fixed."

She shook her head dismissively. "Other than that. And it will do for now, will it not?"

"Yes," I said. "I don't think I need anything else, in terms of weapons." I suddenly realized Rwenthlethance and his guards were missing, although there was still one hobgoblin with me. "Armor - armor was mentioned. I'll want some light chain. I imagine it will have to be fitted, though." When had they gone.

"Almost certainly," she said, as if it were not important. "So we're done here."

"Yes. Uh, where is ..."

She smiled, and it wasn't a friendly smile. "The Incandescence? Waiting outside. Perhaps we should go join him." I nodded, and she turned, and started back up the stairs, and I followed her back through the armory into the salle.

It wasn't empty. Where there had been nothing but floor stretching from mirrored wall to mirrored wall, now there were seats set up, and about twenty or so gnolls sitting on them, surrounded by at least four times that number of hobgoblin guards - almost all carrying naked steel. Rwenthlethance himself was back in the encompassing gauze shroud he'd worn at the tea-shop - or at least, I assumed that was Rwence. Next to him was an older gnoll; much older, but he - she? Almost certainly she. In fact ... given the way the other were clustered around her (and I was willing to bet all of them were she, too), that was almost certainly the Emir.

When I looked back, the Armsmaster was getting a saber and dagger from one of the hobgoblins - practice weapons, I realized. Obviously, the intent was to see just how good I was. The real question in my mind, though, was how good is she? Another quick glance made it clear that there was no protective garb for me - but the Armsmaster was wearing a chain shirt and padding. Neither the saber not the dagger were sharp, but even so, they were real weapons, and all she had were practice toys of metal and wood. They'd give me a nasty bruise, but even a dull sword isn't a toy.

"Do you have another set of those?" I called out.

"You won't need them," she said. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you." There were a couple of chuckles from the onlookers, but I wasn't really looking at them. "This is to the first touch," she said, and came towards me. I just dropped into a soft guard, and kept my eye on her; she'd have to approach me, and how she did it would tell me a lot.

It did; she was fast, knew what she was doing, and she was used to a heavier blade, and I parried the first few strokes without much trouble. I'd expected that; she was feeling out my style as much as I was testing hers. Hers was aggressive, confident, and I almost made the mistake of thinking she was too confident; her expression, as far as I could tell, was simply attentive. It was the blows that made me misjudge - or nearly misjudge. She was stronger than I was, and the sword blows were harder than I'd expected. That's a novice mistake; but it wasn't a mistake on her part. She knew exactly how hard she was hitting, and I wondered, briefly if I were weaker than she'd anticipated.

Probably not; gnolls didn't seem to have a high opinion of humans, or males, and I was both. But I was holding her off. A fight is about strategy, and so far, all she was seeing was my defense. She was good, at least as fast as I was, and stronger - but after a few moments, I thought I was the better duelist. That didn't mean I was going to have an easy time of it. I chose sword-and-dagger as my style because, for a human, I'm pretty strong, and strength gives you an advantage.

But speed and skill give an advantage too, and although I had to give up ground as she pressed the attack, holding her off wasn't that hard. What I wanted was for her to focus on attack, on me, and so I passed up a few ripostes because I knew she could block them. I'm not sure what that told her about my style - it should have made her more cautious, but it didn't seem to. I have tricks - lots of tricks - and the thing about tricks is, they work once. For a duelist, once is enough, and I wanted to end this quickly, preferably with my first real attack. I wasn't ignoring the audience. I suspected that it wasn't only my employment that was on the line, but Rwenthlethance's judgment in hiring me as well ... and I'll be damned if I make my employer look bad.

That's not why people hire me.

This is why people hire me; the Armsmaster overcommitted to her last blow, and her dagger was right where I needed it to be, just a little off of low guard, and I sprang one of my tricks, a three-blow feint combination that ends up with my dagger through my opponent's throat. I needed to pull the blow a little but ...

Only it didn't. I'd walked right into her trap, I realized, as her parry did not include the dagger-riposte that should follow and I threw myself out of the way of the saber-blow I knew was coming, onto the floor, and rolled. I lost the dagger as it went skittering across the floor, but she hadn't hit me, and I pulled one of the throwing knives out. It wasn't balanced right for this, and it wasn't long enough, but it was much, much, better than the nothing I'd had in my hand a moment earlier.

She followed up with a blistering set of feints and attacks that proved she'd been holding back almost as much as I had, but I managed to hold her off, primarily by backing away from her as fast as she advanced. I'm sure she knew I was headed for the long dagger over by the wall, but maybe she expected I'd stop to pick it up, and she anticipated a moment of distraction on my part while I did so. She didn't have to let me go in that direction; at this point, it was all I could do to retreat.

But that was a tactical error on her part, and she'd neglected to take into account that the dagger I was currently using so poorly was intended for another purpose. It was a throwing dagger, and at the right moment, I threw it at her and tumbled again, grabbing the dagger as I passed. I wasn't entirely sure it would work, but that was a razor-sharp dagger - albeit with a few nicks at this point - and she twisted to avoid it just as I threw myself to the left.

And then I had the right long dagger back, and it was my turn to press the attack. I didn't really think it would work, but I needed to know just how good her defense was. As it turned out, pretty good. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise to me - after all, this was the Emir's Armsmaster and she should be good, really, really good, but I hadn't expected this level of skill with what was primarily a Russalkan dueling form. I wondered if she was this good at Vulpa sword-dance, but I didn't have time to think about that.

I'd stopped giving up space to her, and now I was crowding her, forcing her to respond to me, and that was harder than I'd anticipated. It's easy to deflect blows when your surrendering ground, but if you're standing still, or advancing, then your opponent can bring his - her - full strength into play. It didn't take long for my arms to start aching from the battering she was giving me, but at least now I didn't have to worry about holding back. I wasn't surprised that she knew another trick of mine, a surprise blow from what should be a feint, or another that involved a kick, but ... the one with slamming dagger and saber together worked surprisingly well though - the shock goes right through the blade and it's very hard not to drop the saber as it twists in your grip, or, in her case, out of her grip.

And then, of course, I slapped her - gently - with my saber. "Touch."

"Touch," she said, sounding surprised, and a little out of breath. I could sympathize; I was panting at least as hard as she was.

"Well done," a deep voice said, and it took me a moment to place the speaker - the Emir herself. I finally had a moment to look at her. She was wearing a beige robe, the cloth a little heavier than the fluttering gauze around Rwenthlethance. It moved heavily as she stood, and then she shrugged it off. Underneath, she wore a light white tunic and trousers, and she pulled two leather-wrapped longswords from where they had been sitting. I'd seen that style once or twice; these were sharp blades, intended for serious business, and a heavy piece of leather was wrapped around the blade to prevent it from slicing. It made the blades safe for practice, barely.

"Defeating Maldrazathail is impressive, even if she wasn't using real weapons," the deep voice continued. "Let's see how you do against a real opponent."

This is where I'd like to tell you how I defeated the Emir of Zhaskur in single combat, but ... I didn't, of course. I'd just spent twenty minutes in an intense battle with the Armsmaster - I had about as much chance of beating the Emir as I had of scraping together a snowball from the midday dunes. I held her off for less than thirty seconds, which I think was doing pretty well under the circumstances. She used those two longswords as if they were a single weapon, and she was good. She was amazing, in fact, faster than the Armsmaster had been, and stronger than I was. And I wouldn't have even held her off for that long if she'd had any intention of disarming me - no, what she was doing was forcing me out of the salle and into another room, and I could either back up or let her rip the blades out of my hands.

I held her for a moment at the door - doors make great defensive positions, especially if the surrounding walls are stone. It's tricky, though, because hitting a wall with a sword will nick it and throw off the fight - recovery is difficult and depends, in some sense, on the opponent's willingness to let you - or rather, me - recover. It wasn't entirely bad; the small door compensated somewhat for her longer swords, but it did nothing about her strength or her astounding speed. The Armsmaster had been fast; the Emir moved like lightning, and I couldn't even hold the door longer than a few pounding heartbeats before I had to move back into the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two red-liveried hobgoblins waiting, again with naked steel but I ignored them. My concentration was all on those dancing swords, and trying to keep them away from me.

I'd known I was outmatched almost from the beginning of the bout. Once the Emir passed the door, she stopped playing with me and began dueling in earnest. The long dagger dropped to the floor, smashed out of my hand, and a second perfect strike sent the saber flying into the fabric-covered wall, where it dropped with a muffled clang.

"I'm impressed," she said, tossing the swords to the two guards. "You're better - much better - than I'd expected."

At the moment, I didn't feel that way. I don't know that, even if I had been rested and at the top of my style I'd have been able to hold her off, and that ... well, you don't get to be a master swordsman (and I am one) if you can't admit to yourself when you've run into someone who's just plain better than you are. It doesn't happen to me very often. "Thanks, I ..." and I didn't even get to guess before she shoved me down onto the floor. Or at least, onto the heavy cushions on the floor, and the hobgoblins moved to shut the door with a heavy thudding slam.

"I said I was impressed," the Emir said, again, in a low voice. "All that ... swordplay." She looked at me. "Who would have thought that a mere harem-boy would be so ... talented," she said, and she was looking at me with the most intent expression. For a moment, it didn't make any sense.

And then, as the Emir shook the gauzy tunic and pants, it did. The white silk fluttered to the ground, and ... I know this is going to sound strange. At first, I thought she was male. She looked male, where she should look female, if ...

And then she was on top of me; not even bothering to take my pants off, just tearing them away, Fighting makes most men randy, and it makes a lot of women randy. It certainly makes me randy, so I was hard - very hard - when she reached down, and ... I swear I am not making this up, she put my shaft into hers. Again, I'd been fighting for the last twenty minutes or however long the fight lasted - it was probably less, it just seemed longer - but I was still sweaty, and hot, and she was ... wet and slippery and it was like I was being held in a flesh tube that went into her, and then she clamped down - I could feel her gripping me, pulling me into me, and it felt ...

Amazing. Good amazing. And strange; very strange. I wasn't pushing myself into her; she was pulling me in, like her ... her ... I don't know what to call it, but it was holding me, and then she was on me, growling in a low tone, pushing me down against the cushions, hard. I was still trying to get over the strangeness of it; she was female, but all hard, tough muscle covered in an unforgiving stiff pelt of hair, and I could smell her, gnoll-musk (which I can't, just can't describe - it's not unpleasant, but it's ... hard to describe), and the softer scent of an herbal perfume or soap - it made me think of basil - and a smokey scent, all tangled in her fur as she pressed me, harder and harder, into the cushions. I was grateful for the cushions, and the way they gave under our combined weight, because there was no give in her at all.

She was breathing harder and starting to thrust against me, and I was, too, trying to buck against her, bury myself deeper, while she just wrapped herself around me, like a cage make of gnoll. I came first; gripped in the heat of her - unfortunately. Because she hadn't, and her movements against me didn't let up, and in that sudden intensification of sensation right after climax, it didn't feel like anything other than torture, like the skin of my maleness was being sanded away; it's amazing how fast pleasure can morph into intolerable pleasure which is just another word for pain.

And I couldn't get away from her; she had me tight against the cushions, on the floor, and she was bigger and stronger than me. I mean, I tried; I tried to pull out, I tried to push her off, and it was like trying to push a wall - a hot, heaving solid wall of gnoll, and one that seemed amused at my efforts to get her off - and then she convulsed with a satisfied - bark? Laugh? It wasn't a human sound, and it was loud, but at least she stopped moving against my sensitive - too sensitive - parts, and the tight grip started relaxing.

"Very nice," she said, after a moment of motionlessness, and she pushed me out of her, and stood up, in quick, graceful motion. "I've never had a human before; they always seemed so ... odd, like they'd lost their pelt, nothing sickly about you, though, no." One of the guards offered a small towel to her, she just nodded, and the hobgoblin dropped to her knees, carefully cleaning the Emir before the other brought her tunic and helped her into it, and then held her pants as she stepped - almost daintily, I thought - back into them, and fastened those two swords back into their quick-release sheaths along her back.

The hobgoblin tossed me the towel once she was done with it, and the Emir and her guards left the room. I looked around - finally. The room wasn't large, just a heavy, intricately-woven carpet - which is what I was laying on. I thought it was just another cushion, at first, it was so plush, but then, what would you expect in the Emir's palace? The cushions, plump and with the same elaborated geometric designs as the rug, had mostly been moved to the sides as we'd ... as the Emir had held me down, if I was going to be honest. The towel was ... well, it was cleaner than I was, at least, so I did my best to change that and picked up my torn clothes, such as they were.

The door opened again, and Rwence was standing there, his face tight with tension, although I wasn't sure what kind. His head moved a fraction as his eyes swept the room; and he looked even tenser. "I'm sorry ..." he said, very softly. "I ... I never thought she'd ... I didn't imagine ... I'm ... I'm so sorry ... I shouldn't have ... pulled you into this, I ..."

Oh. That was what the look was. Guilt.

"I swear I didn't know ... she's never ..." and then he just slumped. "I should have known. I'm sorry. I'll dismiss you; I've sent Brez for your gold ..." He looked so miserable, I realized, not just guilty, not just ashamed, but ... miserable. "And a robe. The ... the sooner you go, I think, the better. I'll tell her something. Get on a ship. Today." The miserable look just got deeper. No wonder, if this was his life, all alone in the harem, with the closest people he had to companions ... not companions, but the property and tools of his grandmother.

No wonder he'd been so ... happy last night. Giddy. And now ... looking at him, he looked like ... well, he looked like someone who'd just seen his dreams crushed. "Rwence," I said, standing. "I'll admit, that was a surprise, but ... " Was I saying that? Black Mark, feeling sorry for someone?

Yes. And, I had agreed to the contract. Harem duties. It had said so, hadn't it? Right in the contract? "I'm staying."

He looked up at me, uncertain. "You ... don't have to. And ..."

"I can handle her," I said, with as much confidence as I could muster. "She surprised me, I'll admit it, but ... she won't surprise me again."

"You don't ... don't have to do this," he said. "The gold ... it's nothing to me. I don't want you to stay for .."

"I already have the gold," I said. "Don't I?"

"Yes," he said. "You do."

"So, are you going to let me earn it or not?"

He just looked at me, his face losing some of the clenched unhappiness, and he looked, uncertainly, at the two hobgoblins with him, and then back to me. "If ... you really will stay?"

"Yes," I said.

"Even after ..."

"I beat the Armsmaster. If I hadn't, if I'd taken on your grandmother first ..."

"You think you would have beaten her?" Now all the misery was gone, leaving a gaze of disbelief and ... possibly, hope.

No. "It would have been closer," I said. Maybe not that much closer, but ... I consoled myself with the self-evident fact that it would have been closer. Even if the outcome wasn't in any doubt.

"I'd ..." like to see that, he might have said, except for the hobgoblins to either side of him. Rwenthlethance just smiled. It wasn't what I'd call a happy smile, shortlived as it was, but it was a lot better than the ... well, miserable loneliness it replaced. The entire enterprise, Rwence's hiring me, why he would want to hire some sell-sword off the street, why he would want a male, why he wanted someone talented, why ... well, why it had taken so long for someone appropriate to see his note, all of it, was finally starting to make sense. This job wasn't all fun.

I put the robe on, and we walked back to the harem. I barely noticed the hobgoblins, walking in front of us, shutting down passages so that we wouldn't be disturbed. Projection of power. I kept thinking about the Emir ... about that encounter; she'd been ... well, it had been ... I didn't know. Something I'd have to think about. Later. Right now, I had ...

"What happens now?" I asked Rwence.

"What ..."

"Well, it's still ... early in the evening, isn't it?"

"Yes," the silver-furred gnoll said. "Grandmother is receiving a goblin ambassador - that's what that contract was for, this morning. And that will be a full court. We don't have to go, though." The gnoll looked over at me anxiously. "If you don't want to."

I shrugged. "Might as well get it over with."

"Get ... what?"

"Or are we behind a screen or something?"

"No, I just have a guard and any attendants. You. Although ... I'll be wearing outside garb." The gnoll grimaced. "You won't have to. We will be seated next to the Emir, though." The gnoll paused. "I'm not sure if we have anything good enough for you to wear ..."

"I can wear anything," I said.

"What you wear reflects on the Emir," Rwenthlethance said. "So, no, you can't wear 'anything.' But ... I imagine we can find something." The gnoll sniffed. "Perhaps another bath is in order."

"Yes," I said.

And that's where the Emir's guards found us, back in the bathing chamber, about an hour later.

[

["The](%5C)](%5C)