Greywolf

  Greywolf raced along the bridge as fast as he could run. As he got close, two of the soldiers moved their spears towards him and he raised his hands to show he was unarmed. “I’m with them.”

  The two guards moved to let him pass but kept their spears leveled at him as Greywolf stopped next to a glowering Asena. Porthos was speaking to a soldier wearing a red sash, who laughed at something the merchant said. Even though Greywolf was good at picking up new tongues, they were talking too fast for him to catch more than a word or two as the conversation continued.

  The two stopped speaking and nodded at each other. Then Red Sash barked a command and the other soldiers raised their spears, stepping away and resuming their usual post as Porthos turned and smiled. "Just a simple misunderstanding," he said, returning to speaking Greco. "Follow me." They walked underneath the gate and back into the warm sun, the main road now a square plaza with a round fountain in the center. In the center of the fountain were bronze statues of women, now green with age, holding pitchers in their hands from which water flowed into the basin.

  Women were filling ceramic jugs from the flowing water as the three of them passed, though most seemed to gossiping with one another. Someone gasped. All the women stared at Asena, their voices going silent, then excited as she left them behind. The older women favored flowing clothes covering them head to foot, while the younger left their stomachs and ankles bare, the material gauzy in as many colors are there were flowers being sold by street vendors, or the spices other vendors were hawking out of wooden push carts. Their smells filled Greywolf’s nostrils with intoxicating scents of rose, saffron, cumin, and more…but couldn’t completely cover the dusty smell of crumbling brick.

  From the plaza, the main road curved and followed the river as the city expanded outward, leading to a walled section at the opposite end with a palace rising behind it. However, another road off the plaza went straight ahead to another walled section only a stone's throw away, its massive wooden doors banded in black iron like the main gate. Rising behind those walls were tall pyramids and other buildings. Glancing over his shoulder, Greywolf said, “Porthos, what’s behind those walls? Is that the Temple District?”

  The merchant looked to where Greywolf was pointing. “It is indeed,” he said, lowering his voice. “Back in the days when Bukhara was free and Mithra and the other deities had their temples there, the gates would remain open for everyone, rich or poor, to enter and worship whichever deity they wished. But then the Temple of the Storm Lord and his minions arrived from the west and backed the youngest son of the old emperor in his rebellion. They won, and soon after the Sasnayams began conquering the smaller nations, making them satrapies and knocking down the temples to build their pyramids. The practice of sacrificing people atop their altars began soon after.”

  “Did Bukhara fight back?” Greywolf asked.

  Porthos sighed. “What would be the point? Mithra was already declared dead by his temple by the time their armies reached us, with Isis and the other temples either in hiding or fled, so there seemed to be no reason to resist. Oh, there were rebellions and unrest, but with the ascension of Yun-Kax over the Storm Lord and the easing of the sacrifices, the city has begun to calm itself down.”

  “But the gates of the Temple District remain closed.”

  Porthos sighed again. “They do, and the people of Bukhara endure, hoping beyond hope that the old gods will someday return and bring good fortune with them.”

  Asena spat. “Don’t hold your breath.

  Porthos led them deeper into the city, each building facing the road separated from the others by narrow alleyways, with wooden signs hanging above its shadowed entrance. Greywolf couldn't read the flowing script, but each sign also had a carved picture indicating what lay at the end of the alley. Porthos took a right into a lane with a sign depicting a Direwolf standing on one leg, its other leg and front paws waving in the air. As their footsteps echoed off the walls to either side, he said, "I forgot to mention the inn boasts a bathhouse, located directly behind it, as the central bathhouses are restricted to residents of Bukhara."

  "I'm heading there first."

  Asena gave him a snort. "Just like your father." At the end of the alley sat a two story inn made of the same white stone as the bridge, with western style arches surrounding each second story window. On the left was an L shaped counter with a half-dozen round holes where ceramic vessels, filled with food, had been placed. A middle-aged man in a stained tunic served a pair of soldiers while a third took bites off the pastry in his hand. Greywolf caught the succulent scent of spiced meat as Porthos strode up to the wooden door beside the counter. He pushed the door open and little bells chimed overhead as he stepped inside, Asena ducking her head as she entered. Greywolf followed at her heels.

  They entered a short, narrow hallway ending in a T. To the right, an archway opened to a dimly lit, large room with colorful woven rugs hanging on the walls, and long, low tables surrounded by seat cushions on a floor made of flagstones, the air made fragrant with the scent of almond from oil lamps set into the walls. The back of the room was lost in shadow, with only a couple men at the closest table, wearing leather armor and drinking from ceramic cups, looking up as they entered.

  To the left, the wall extended several feet to a doorway covered by long strands of beads and a few small bronze bells, which softly chimed as a man pushed through them. "Welcome to your oasis of rest from your burdens," a bald, skinny man wearing an apron began in Greco. "My name is Parnax, and I will be your— Urk!"

  The innkeeper went still as a mouse in a hawk's shadow as Porthos smiled. "Be at ease, my old friend, for the gods look upon you with favor this day." He switched over to their language, the innkeeper's face going from fear to surprise to greedy slyness, before slipping back into a pleasant mask. Porthos stopped speaking and clapped Greywolf on the shoulder. "First things first. Greywolf would like a bath and clean clothes."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Greywolf ignored Asena as she snorted again while the innkeeper's expression grew sharp. "Use of the bathhouse is included with the room, but minor-mage Ishi charges extra to do laundry."

  "You have mages doing laundry?" Greywolf asked.

  "That lazy slut? She has a manikin that does it for her."

  "A what?"

  "Manikins are wooden dolls as tall as a small woman," Porthos said, "which are fully articulated and enchanted to perform specific acts the mage needs done, in this instance doing laundry. All the mage has to do is make sure the manikin is charged with mana and it does the rest."

  "Waste of mana," Asena growled. "Why doesn't she just use a slave like they do in the Western and Eastern empires?"

  Porthos made an open gesture with his hands. "Ah, but slavery is illegal in the Sasnayam Empire, except for slave-soldiers and war captives… though some might argue their concept of servitude is itself a form of slavery."

  Greywolf scratched his head. “The Magus guild actually allows this? I thought something like doing laundry would be beneath them.”

  “There is no guild of the Magi in Bukhara.”

  "You mean regular people get to use magic?"

  "If they have the talent," Porthos replied, "and only if they are licensed by one of the temples. Cultures are strange, are they not? In the decadent empire of Old Etrusca, or should I say what remains of it, to be discovered having mage talent means instant enslavement, while here in the east it means gainful employment. In Bukhara, magic flourishes while there it hides in the shadows. I believe—”

  "Friend Porthos," the innkeeper said, interrupting, "a thousand apologies, but with my debt to you cleared…”

  "You wish to speak of business. Show my friends to their room, and we can discuss the delivery of wine casks... paid for in advance, of course."

  Parnax's face twisted into a grimace. "Of course. If you will both follow me?" The innkeeper went back through the strings of beads and bells and they followed, the next room a common eating area with a wooden table and benches, connected to the outside by another archway. The back wall to their right opened into a kitchen and a hall going straight back. He led them past the stone stairs leading up, and continued down the hall, closed doors to either side, which ended in a wooden door with an iron bolt drawn across it. Parnax stopped and opened the last door on the left with a brass key. "I fear I do not have a bed large enough to accommodate you."

  "I'm fine with a pallet on the floor," she said as she took the key from his hand.

  The room was plain, with the bed a wooden frame holding a thin cushion and nothing else. Asena set her pack against the wall and Greywolf put his down beside it as Parnax retreated to the hallway. "The bathhouse is right behind the inn," he said as he drew back the bolt on the door leading to the back of the building. "When you enter, the wicker basket to your left is for laundry, and the moment you throw your clothes in, the manikin will know to come pick them up. So throw all your laundry in at once or you will confuse it." He hesitated. "Friend Porthos told me your name translates to 'Wolf Mother?"

  "Close enough," she growled.

  He visibly swallowed. "I do not wish to offend, but the men who drink in the room you passed by on your right when you came in, are paying guests who—”

  "You want me to remain in the common room so I don't scare off your more valuable customers. Fine, but I want a meal with roasted meat, a tankard or two of thin-beer to wash away the dust, then red wine from the empire, east or west, I don't care which."

  "Whatever you desire that can be provided, shall be provided. Come to the common room when you are ready and the girl will serve you."

  Parnax bowed and scurried away back down the hallway. Asena snorted and helped Greywolf unbuckle his leather armor with its cracked and pitted Artifact plates, which they laid on the bed to dry. "It'll be good to be clean again." She only grunted, and he said, "Are you sure you don't want to join me?"

  "I don't trust this place," Asena growled, "and taking my armor off leaves me vulnerable." So does getting drunk and passing out in the common room, but I think I'll keep that thought to myself . His mother added, "Besides, I took a bath in Khitia."

  It was Greywolf’s turn to snort. "You fell out of the boat into the river. That hardly counts." Dodging the half-hearted cuff she swung at him, Greywolf began pulling all the clothes out of his pack, including the last clean tunic and trousers, before he looked up again. There was a haggard expression on Asena's face no one except Greywolf would notice, and a slump to her shoulders as she untied her long steel sword from her pack and laid it under the bed. "Thanks to Porthos, we've got silver to spare."

  She looked up with her dark eyed gaze. "So?"

  "This inn's going to be crawling with mercenaries. So when this Karl fellow finds you something magical to kill, we could hire—”

  "I'm not hiring sell-swords to help me hunt troll, or whatever the local beast is. What are you now, my nursemaid?"

  "Someone's got to be." Asena raised her black clawed hand and he skipped back a step. "Alright, I won't nag. But at least think about it." Grabbing his bundle of clothing, Greywolf stepped into the hall and opened the unbolted door. Straight ahead was a small square building made of white stone with a red brick shed attached, and he strode towards it, wrinkling his nose at the smell coming off the garbage midden against the right hand brick wall.

  Stepping through the open doorway, the air hit Greywolf with a welcome humid wave. The bath house was one big room with a large pool and recessed privy to one side, and a stall with a bronze pipe sticking out near the ceiling, to the other. The stall had a simple bronze lever and a chunk of soap on a ledge.

  Now this is civilized. There was no changing room, only shelves built into the walls, so he used the privy before getting undressed, placing his clean clothes on a shelf and the dirty ones into the basket. He took a moment to examine the device. The wicker basket had a half-foot wide wooden rim, covered in a flowing script burned into the wood, which began glowing blue the moment he tossed in his clothes. He waited a moment to see if the basket did anything else, then walked over to the stall and cleaned up before sliding into the pool.

  Now that's more like it. Asena can snort all she wants, but nothing beats hot water after a long journey. Ducking his head, Greywolf found the pipe feeding hot water into the pool and let it surge against the muscles in his back. I swear I could go to sleep in here if I didn't... wait, what's that odd clacking sound? He stood up in waist deep water as a figure stepped into the doorway.

  Before him stood a faceless wooden doll the size of a large child, with glowing blue eye slits and more of the strange flowing writing burned onto every smooth surface of its light brown wood, including its articulated hands. Several bands of writing were glowing, but as he watched, one line of script faded as two more glowed, as did the writing on its hands, and the manikin bent down to pick up the basket. Different lines of script glowed or faded as it turned around and marched out the doorway with his laundry.

  A beautiful dark haired woman took its place.