Carrying the cooling unit in one large hand, Brand stalked down the alley to the bright street beyond. A few parasol-wielding ladies gasped and pointed at him, reminding him that he was covered in blood and dirt. He yanked his bandana back up over his mouth and nose and cast about for somewhere to clean up. His skin still prickled with the memory of the plague victim’s hands grabbing at him.
A large fountain topped with the statue of an armored man astride a rearing mechanohorse stood in the middle of the wide street ahead. It wasn’t ideal, but if he couldn’t find a better place to wash off, the fountain would do.
Brand jogged toward the gray edifice, glancing about, hoping for a less public place to clean off the filth. Other pedestrians gave Brand a wide berth, eyes wide and voices hushed behind their gloved hands.
Just as he came within a few meters of the fountain, he caught sight of the Four Horsemen, a restaurant he’d been to some years ago. He jogged over and ducked inside.
The Four Horsemen was one of the more casual kashmari-run establishments that Brand had visited. The restaurant was dim as the only light came from the desert sun trickling through tinted glass windows at the front of the place. A black tile floor kept the establishment pleasantly cool. Instead of tables, the interior of the restaurant was a maze of booths separated by tall wooden dividers that gave diners a private, intimate experience. It felt like a cave, albeit a cave that was thoroughly swept and scrubbed five times a day and which provided an extensive menu of hearty sandwiches and beer.
Brand picked his way through the thick crowd, hunching down to blend in, face turned away from the bartender. At the back of the restaurant, he slipped into the restroom. This place catered to kashmari and richer humans, and thus provided a toilet and running water.
He placed the cooling unit on the tile floor. Then, twisting the faucet on, he splashed water on his hands and arms and scrubbed rigorously. Blood, dirt, and stinking, infected filth swirled down the drain.
“Are you ok?”
Brand spun. A scarred hand flew up to his bandana to make sure it was completely covering his face. His shoulders relaxed.
A man wearing a sharp jacket and wingtip shoes eyed Brand, taking in the gore spattered all over the gladiator. “You look like a man who’s just come in contact with the Plague.”
Brand blinked. “Yeah, just did, in fact.” He shuddered. “There’s an alley righ’ down th’ street a bit,” Brand drawled. “Full o’ plague victims. You smell ‘em, turn tail and run.”
The other man’s eyes widened as he took a step backwards.
Brand turned back to the task at hand. He scrunched up his face as he pulled down the bandana so the man wouldn’t recognize him, then scrubbed his face until it was raw and pink.
Finished with his ablutions, Brand shoved the bandana back into place, and with shaking hands, pulled out a small silk purse from his pocket. He reached one finger in and pulled out a single deep blood-red disk, a tiny pill that he quickly swallowed. Brand sighed in relief.
The top hat man cleared his throat. His eyes were fixed on the silk purse.
“Is that the prophylactic?”
Brand nodded.
“Since you brought the plague in here, do you mind…?” the man said pointedly.
“Oh, yeah.” Brand pulled out another small pill and handed it to the man, who snatched and swallowed it in one smooth motion.
“Never can be too careful, can you?” the man said with a smile. “What a marvelous drug. A preventative for a terrible plague. Say, what is your profession? I don’t meet many people with easy access to the prophylactic.”
Brand nodded and lied through the Duati accent. “I’m a laborer in ‘is Lord Kushchai’s garden.”
The man must have been expecting something more impressive because his smile turned icy. “Ah. Of course. I had the fortune of taking a tour of His Lord’s gardens not two weeks ago. He is so very proud of them.”
Brand couldn’t keep the smirk off his hidden face as he watched the man twisting his brain into knots, trying to figure out how a laborer had been rewarded with a priceless medicine. The man gave up after an awkward moment, scooped up his hat, and swept out of the restroom.
Brand dried himself off, picked up the cooling unit, and left the restroom. He paused, then pushed his way to the front of the queue at the counter.
“Runnerbeast on rye, hold the tomatoes, and a Southern stout.”
He tapped his fingers on the counter while he waited, then carried his food to a small table pressed up against the wall. A single soft amber bulb suspended above the table illuminated the booth.
Brand was only three bites in when a kashmari woman wearing a lacy dress and a wide lace-covered hat appeared next to his table.
“Mr. Brand?” she said in a silky voice.
Brand looked up and nearly choked on his food. He quickly rose to his feet.
“Lady Mirane,” he said, grasping her gilded hand. “How may I help you?”
Lady Mirane, the kashmari city lord of Navar, a city in the mountains west of Darnan, gave Brand a coy smile that stopped his heart. “You’ve been such an attentive host that when I caught a sight of you in here, I just knew I had to stop and have a quick bite with you.”
Brand returned the smile warmly. “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”
He helped her settle into the chair opposite him and sat, trying not to gawk at her. But with eyes like sapphires, silvery hair that cascaded over her bare, storm-blue shoulders, and hourglass hips, he found it quite difficult. Brand had spent the better half of a week touring Darnan with Lady Mirane of Navar and Lord Jinn of Duat, and every time he saw Mirane, Brand’s stomach always ended up in his throat. She somehow seemed familiar to Brand, as though he’d met her in a dream long ago.
She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Brand coughed in embarrassment, then hurried over to the counter. He had to fight against the press of bodies to order the lady a sandwich. Then, that task accomplished, he returned to Mirane.
“Seems like a popular place, if a little informal,” the kashmari lady commented. She took a bite of her sandwich, closed her eyes, and smiled as she chewed. She swallowed, then said, “Well, now I know why. This is excellent.”
“Us locals always know the best eateries. I can’t pass this place by without grabbing a bite,” Brand lied.
“There used to be a little soup shop in Navar that I loved in the same way. On the coldest days, there was nothing quite like their bean and river bird soup to warm you up. Once I became the city lord, I hired the cook on as my personal soup chef.”
“I think I’d go broke if I hired every excellent cook in Darnan to be my personal chef.”
Mirane’s light laughter made Brand’s stomach do a flip.
“Unfortunately, I found out later that soup wasn’t the only thing he was good at cooking. Turns out he was a pharmakon.”
Brand winced. “That is unfortunate.”
“You know something of pharmakons?” Mirane asked, surprised.
“A little. A lot more than your average human,” Brand admitted. “I’m an amateur student of history, and it’s impossible to read a history of the Kashmari City-States without coming across pharmakon history as well.”
“Is that how you know so much about the history of Darnan? During our tour, it seemed you knew every statue, every district, every shop. You learned all that from reading books?” She took another bite.
Brand nodded. “As a youth, I spent a considerable amount of time at the library. It was one of the few places I could go to get away from the sun where they didn’t care who I was.”
“And who were you?”
“A nobody. A street urchin.”
“Really? You?” Mirane tilted her head as though trying to see through his disguise. “I would never have guessed with your sophisticated attire and suave manners.”
Brand looked down at his rough clothes dusted with a thin layer of grit and chuckled. “I’ll never be a gentleman, that’s true. But that’s not what I’m paid for, is it?”
Brand could feel her gaze sweep over him, from his square bearded jaw to his broad shoulders, and arched her delicate eyebrows appreciatively.
“Are there other gladiators who don’t look like gods from the past, or is that part of the job description?”
Brand grinned. “No one wants to watch a pair of ugly lugs beat each other to a pulp.”
Mirane smirked. “Well, the men might be content with that, but the women certainly appreciate watching two rugged, well-muscled demigods trying to pulverize each other.”
“Exactly.”
“Speaking of gladiators, what brings a gladiator such as yourself out this way to the financial district?”
Brand froze for the barest moment, the events of the last hour flashing through his mind. He ran through the list of shops he knew were around here. “This district abuts a market road with a variety of shops. I’d heard from another gladiator about a shopkeeper nearby who knew of a weaponsmith who claims to know how to craft unbreakable knives. Turns out the gladiator heard wrong. The weaponsmith in question doesn’t even forge knives.”
Mirane smiled into her hand. “You really are dedicated to your work, aren’t you? No time for a woman, I’m guessing.”
Brand shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure I could find room in my life for the right woman.”
Mirane leaned in close, a mischievious smile dancing on her azure lips. She tilted her head slightly, exposing her soft throat to him. Brand felt his face flush.
“But you haven’t met her yet?”
Brand didn’t answer immediately, instead letting his gaze follow the contours of Mirane’s face. He dropped his gaze, trying to hide the smile, and cleared his throat. He looked back up, more in control.
“No, not yet.”
Her smirk deepened as she straightened. She wiped her hands on her napkin and folded it primly across her lap, but her eyes shone.
“I should be going,” Mirane said, standing. “I have a meeting in an hour with the high lord. I understand you’ll be meeting with the other city lords and me in two days’ time, correct?”
Brand nodded.
Mirane beamed at the gladiator. “I look forward to seeing you there.”
She offered her hand to Brand, who took it to help her stand.
With that, the beautiful kashmari woman turned and walked away, leaving Brand in a daze.
The gladiator sat and finished his meal, then left the restaurant at a much slower pace than he’d entered. As he walked, the prophylactic pill finally calmed his mind, allowing him to savor the memory of Mirane’s touch and her silken voice. He paused at the base of the fountain outside to take stock of his current situation.
Now that Mirane was gone, he realized with no small amount of trepidation that he had been far too flirtatious with her. She’d reciprocated, though, and thus was unlikely to turn him in. Besides, the booth had provided sufficient privacy that Brand doubted any kashmari there had noticed. All the same, he’d have to be careful not to let that happen again.
You’ll be a dead man if you get involved with her, he reminded himself fiercely. Keep it strictly professional from now on.
He sighed and turned his attention to getting home. The pill was making his eyes and muscles feel heavy, so walking the rest of the way would be a slog. He was sufficiently far from the apothecary shop that Brand figured he could risk taking a cab. He flagged down one of the mechanohorse carriages and hopped inside onto a worn velveteen seat. The wooden compartment creaked a little as he adjusted his bulky frame.
“Face the camera, please,” a smooth, mechanical female voice said.
Brand turned his face to the little round lens in the corner of the cab. The shutter twisted closed with a raspy click three times, and then a lock in the carriage door slammed shut.
“Destination, please.”
Brand thought for a moment. He could visit Kushchai now and tell him of B’alam Nehn’s machine suit attack, or he could tell the kashmari lord in two days when he would meet with Kushchai and the other city lords.
“Gladiator Row, Number 7.”
A chime notified him that the destination had been accepted and identified. The carriage lurched forward. It swayed gently from the motion of the horse.
As the drug took full effect, Brand felt a coolness spread from his core out to his fingers and toes like he’d been dipped in water. His mind calmed. But then the effects deepened. His mind fogged up like a window in winter on a snowy day.
Rubbing his temples, Brand realized he’d taken two of the little red pills that day. With a sigh, he pulled the little black curtains over the windows. It made the little compartment stuffy and hot, but at least no one outside would see him. He closed his eyes and succumbed to the drowsiness. He slipped into a vacant trance, then fell deep asleep.
A Note from Jillian: I decided to upload Muspell’s Sons in its entirety to my website to test whether an author can be successful without charging for their ebooks. This is a completely free fantasy ebook available to read online and I do not use ads to support this website since I personally despise ads. I make no money off of this free fantasy ebook. If you like the book, please consider leaving a review for me on Goodreads. That will greatly help more people find my stories. Thanks!
