Chapter 21 - The City of Slaves

Lucian had never been to Calimport. Mostly in part due to the fact that his father vehemently loathed the city and its ruler. “Pasha Pook is a disgusting lowlife who feeds on the anguish of others in order to keep his belly full,” King Aimeric had said hotly. “The day Aeliorn aligns itself with the City of Slaves is the day our nation crumbles into ruin.”

A month following the deaths of King Aimeric and Queen Estelle, Lord Darrien and Pasha Pook signed a declaration of commerce between their two countries.

A warm wind pushed about Lucian’s blonde hair as he glowered at the city approaching on the horizon.

Calimport. The sprawling capital city of the desert country of Calimshan. Squalor and splendor were the two sides of the same coin in Calimport, to some the City of Slaves and others the City of Glory. Nestled on the southern coast of Faerun, just east of the fringes of the Calim Desert, it was one of the oldest still-functioning ports on the continent. Twisted, domed towers spun into the bright blue sky. Flying carpets soared amidst the spires and a labyrinth of limestone buildings covered the great expanse of the city. It was a broad expanse of vibrant colour, barely muted by age.

And somewhere behind the great walls protecting the city, was a man rumored to have the ability to breathe life into death. But at what cost?

Lucian’s fingers curled around the linked lion chain around his neck. The one thing of Aven’s he refused to part with. He’d heard so many stories of resurrections gone wrong. Servitors were capable of such a feat, but the cost of resurrection was always far too great. They were brought back broken. No longer the people they used to be.

What if he attempted this, and Aven was brought back… wrong?

He couldn’t worry about that right now. He had to focus entirely on simply getting through the city without causing a scene. That shouldn’t be too hard. “Morra!” He snapped out, spinning on his heel. “How close are we to getting into port?”

“It should be only ten minutes, your highness.”

“Good. Keep your sails down when we reach the docks. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“And you’re going out wearing that?” Kendyll snorted.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?!”

“It’s just so…” Kendyll circled around the Prince, lifting up his golden cape and touching the silver frills against his navy blue trimmed jacket, purchased at the previous port with the gold acquired from the ransacking of Spellhold. “So you. And with your hair, you’ll be spotted a mile away.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Her eyes lit up. “Isn’t it obvious? Once we get into town, we need to get some new clothes.”

“You can’t be serious,” he hissed. “Kendyll, this is a time sensitive mission.”

“I know. But if Darrien is allied with Pasha Pook like you say he is, then his spies will be all over the city. We have to keep you in a disguise.”

Lucian scowled and pushed his fingers through his hair. “All right, all right. Whatever you think is best.”

The ship slid into port and immediately, Lucian’s sensations were swallowed by the city. The shouting of a melting pot of languages echoing from the harbor. The smell of shit, fish, animal fur and sweat wafting up from the docks. Nobility of course had far more luxurious harbors to enter in, but for the peasant folk, the docks were their first view of the city and for common trash it did not aim to impress.

The ship slid through the gap of the thirty foot walls curving around the ship’s harbor and looking about, Lucian’s breath expelled in a gasp. It was easily the largest port in Faerun. He could see ships from all across Toril. The tattered sails of Maztican nations. The noble flag of Cormyr and Waterdeep. Pulling his hood up over his head, Lucian stepped off of the ship and was instantly nearly run over by a cart pulled by two camels, the great beasts regarding him lazily before carrying on. A wave of people were rushing by, shouting and laughing and drinking, carrying cargo and rushing to ships.

It was overwhelming. For a brief moment, Lucian looked about for Aven…to find him gone. He shut his eyes, exhaled and stepped forward. “We need to find a shop,” he said. “Kendyll, where do you think we can find some appropriate attire?”

“Well, we certainly won’t find anything here,” she said. “But there’s plenty of wards we can try! The Shackles Ward, the Crypt Ward, the Jewel Ward, the Wizard Ward-"

"Clothes,” Lucian snapped. “We need clothes, Kendyll."

"Then perhaps the Trades Ward?"

“That will do. Come. We must not linger.” Lucian set off at a fast pace down the road, careful not to get in the way of the wagons filled with supplies bustling to and from the ships and warehouses. Among the warehouses - Lucian was sure he’d never seen as many taverns and festhalls in a single place. One street corner hosted three of them, and there was a fight taking place at the intersection. A man and a woman wrestling in the dirt as a crowd gathered around them, only to be split apart by the guards - the amlakkar.

Lucian gave them a wide berth. “The architecture here reminds me of Zakhara,” Lucian noted, his eyes following one of the curving spires of a nearby tower. “I’ve never been there, but my father was good friends with the Grand Caliph there. I’ve seen many paintings of their home.”

“Marcello says that that’s because they were inspired by the Zakharans,” Kendyll said, skipping over a stinking pile of camel shit. “The efreeti that helped build Zakhara helped build Calimport, too.”

“I don’t suppose an efreeti would be willing to grant me a single wish, then,” Lucian murmured.

Each of the city’s wards were separated by walls, and the only connecting entrances were small, curved openings, scarcely big enough for a wagon. They were guarded by the amlakkar, and as Lucian and Kendyll passed through one they were eyed suspiciously before they were let through.

The Trade Ward was just as colorfully diverse as the Dock Ward. Along with the melting pot of visiting cultures from all around the world, Lucian was swiftly able to pick out the natives. The people of Calimport, the Calishite, reminded him greatly of Aven. They were a people of dusky brown skin, brown hair and dark eyes.

Unlike Aven, most were several inches shorter than those of Aeliorn or the Sword Coast, with a slighter build than most humans of other ethnicities. The descendants of the slaves of the genies who ruled great empires, they had cast away their shackles and built an empire.

Some wore loose wraps of fabric that were curved around the bodies of both the men and the women. Others wore body shirts underneath a voluminous outer gown with wide, long sleeves and skirts with a slit up the sides, the fronts opened like a coat. They wore turbans and scarf like headdresses, patterned squares of cloth held in place by corded bands decorated with beads and metallic threads.

It was a style that even the visitors seemed to mimic, whether it was to show off the fashion of their hosts or to blend in. Lucian needed to find such native garb.

“What about this one?” Kendyll asked, grabbing on to Lucian’s arm. “Khemed’s Outfitters?”

“That will work,” Lucian said, and they swept inside.

It was a small, limestone building with racks of robes, clothes, scarves and tunics hanging from the ceilings. As Kendyll spoke with the man, seeming to know at least a little Alzhedo to communicate with him, Lucian wandered the racks. He pawed through the clothes - when his eyes stopped.

It was a fine tunic of dark crimson with the edges trimmed in gold. His heart ached. Aven would have liked such a tunic. He pushed past it and pulled several items off the racks.

When they walked out, Lucian wore a long white tunic with loose pants fastened by a belt of light brown, trimmed with ruffles of light blue. His blonde hair was fastened in a blue turban and Kendyll exited adorned in a flowing little dress of lilac purple.

Lucian arched a brow. "So while I have to be in disguise, you get to go shopping?” he asked.

“I’ve been stuck inside a tower for the last six months wearing nothing but rags that smell of my own shit,” she smiled back. “I’m going to wear something nice. But..” she hesitated. “You should… probably take that medallion off.”

“Why.”

She flushed. “It was Aven’s, right..? If you’re seen wearing it, they might-”

“I don’t care.” Lucian brushed past her. “No one is removing it but me. And that’s only so I can strangle Aven with it when he returns for being a dumb bitch. Now where is this man you were telling me about?”

“He’s in the Wizard Ward. And speaking of wizards.” She caught up to Lucian as he took off in the direction. “Are you still working on your magecraft?”

“Of course.”

“Is it still just as funny?”

“What do you mean funny?”

The girl giggled. “Your magic has always been funny. Much funnier than Marcello and Theseus’ that is. Their spells never go wrong. But yours always did. Remember when you tried to make your father’s crown fly off his head but you turned it into a spider instead?”

His cheeks reddened. “I think it scared me more than him,” he admitted. “And yes, my magic has improved.”

“But weren’t you killed by your magic going crazy again?”

Lucian scowled at her. “Isn’t that a sensitive question?”

“That never stops you.”

Lucian exhaled sharply. “Yes. My magic went wild and it killed me.”

“Do you know why it-”

“Would you shut up?!”

She did. Her mouth snapped closed and she turned her eyes shyly ahead. Lucian’s gut twisted and he exhaled. “Look, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I just… no. My magic hasn’t gotten better. In fact, it’s gotten worse. I fucked up. It got me killed. And in turn, it got him killed.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” His jaw slid forward. “It’s his.”

“It’s not his fault, either.”

“Yes, it is.” Lucian’s eyes lashed towards her. “He promised me he wouldn’t use it. And he did. He lied. He lied because he’s a pathetic little nobody who feels as though he needs someone to feel like he matters. He’s been enslaved all his life. He doesn’t know how to live for himself. So he took the coward’s way out.”

“If it was as easy as that, he wouldn’t have tried to escape captivity in Amn,” Kendyll points out. “He did it because he-”

“Don’t say it.” Lucian’s fingers curled at his side. “Just…. don’t.”

They were nearly through the Trades Ward. A flying carpet shot overhead and a pair of stray dogs rushed by. They were completely flanked by tents and stalls and shops, with men and women shouting at him from all sides.

“Beautiful jewels for a beautiful man!”

“Fish! Fresh fish, right out of the fjord!”

“Exquisite candles for your intimate nights!”

Lucian brushed by them all. How in the nine hells was he going to pay this man for Aven’s resurrection..? Surely not with gold. While the Mindulgulph acquired quite a bit of money from the ransacking of Spellhold, most of it went into supplies for their journey home. Perhaps he could make a promise of a profitable future.

“Slaves! Slaves young an old! Get your fresh meat here!”

Lucian’s heels drilled into the ground so quickly Kendyll slammed into his back. “Ow!” She hissed, rubbing her nose. “Lucian?”

“Slaves.”

In the middle of the intersection, a great platform had been erected. Seven slaves stood atop it, metal bands closed around their necks as they hung their heads, staring to the ground. A Calishite pranced about in front of them like a man showing off his finest stallions.They were not of Calim - they were tall, with dark almost ebon skin. “Chultans,” Kendyll said quietly.

“Chultans?”

“Of the Chultan Peninsula. It’s a nation dominated by jungles just west of Halruaa…the Calishites kidnap hundreds right from their homes and drag them here-”

“What are you doing?”

Lucian was approaching the platform. “I lost my slave. I need more.”

Kendyll stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Just pipe down and stand aside.” Lucian approached the platform, rolling his eyes across the seven slaves. Several were in their middle ages. One old enough to be his grandfather. Several others adult, and one young teenager. “How much for each of them?” Lucian asked the slave owner who beamed, bouncing on the curled toes of his boots.

“Five gold for one slave!”

“That’s quite cheap.”

“Well, they’re only Chultans, my lord!”

Lucian’s lip quivered. “Indeed.” He turned his gaze back to the slaves, and approached the youngest. “Your name, boy?”

The boy didn’t dare lift his eyes. “Atuar adh Erispar.”

“Ah, yes!” The slave master beamed. “That means Atuar of House Erispar!”

“I’ll take him.”

“Wonderful! That will be five-”

“And them.” He gestured to the six remaining slaves and the man’s eyes widened.

“T-Thank you, my lord! Thank you, thank you! Yes, all of them are yours!” He snapped an order to the Chultans in Alzhedo and they stepped, numb, off the platform. Lucian spilled the gold into his hands and motioned for the slaves to follow.

Kendyll was immediately at his side. “You just spent blood money.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What do you mean you didn’t?”

“A simple incantation. Those gold coins will be turning into stones in just five minutes. So let’s try and put some distance between us while we can.”

As soon as they lost sight of the greedy slaver, Lucian turned to the men and unclasped them one by one. “We have a ship in port,” he explained. “You’re to go on it and tell the sailors aboard that Lucian sent you and that you’re to get a hot meal and a place to sleep.”

“And what would you have us do?” One of the men asked and Lucian arched a brow.

“Do? Do whatever you like, I suppose. Once we leave this place, we’ll take you to the nearest town with enough gold to start a life comfortably.”

They stared at him. In shock. In suspicion. The eldest of the slaves stepped forward. “You would give us up?” He asked slowly. “After just purchasing us?”

“I haven’t purchased you. I have liberated you.”

“But why?”

“Because the man of highest quality I have ever met was a slave. He is more than his shackles, and so are you. Now go, I have something to tend to. It’ll be the ship with flags bearing the symbol of flames within a circle. Oh, and don’t mind the beasts. I promise they’re friendly.”

“Beasts? But we-”

“Do you have gunk in your ears? Go!”

They stared at him, stunned before moving off. Lucian huffed, turned - and caught Kendyll eyeing him with an arched brow. “What?”

“How is it you manage to be decent and a prick all at once?”

“When you deal with the buffoons of Aelorian court you learn to handle matters swiftly and severely. Now come, we’re losing daylight and we don’t have much time.”

——————————————————

The Wizard Ward of Calimport was filled to the brim with minarets and towers. Magical and colorful protective wards and hundreds of permanent illusions surrounded the villas and manors that made up the Wizard Ward. It was a strange sight for many visitors, unfamiliar to magic and sorcery.

But not to Lucian and Kendyll, both born of countries that were built upon the foundation of magic. Looking about, he could identify the magical wards placed up with ease. The streets were filled to the brim with mages. Illusionists performing with flares of light in the streets accompanied by evokers twirling swords of pure fire. Divinists telling one’s fortune in small little shops and necromancers proposing to let passer bys speak to their beloved dead.

Zassaal lived in the most opulent part of the Ward, the Najja Sabban. All of the buildings in the upper-caste neighborhood were ornate, elaborate and ostentatious with curling spires and domed ceilings that caught the light with flecks of pure gold. Some of them were twisted in shape, and others changed entirely at the very will of their owners.

"This is the one!” She said, tugging on Lucian’s arm as they came to a stop in front of one of the towers.

In comparison to the others, it was quite mundane. A simple limestone tower with gold and silver ornamentation near its spiraled roof. Lucian sent her a look of doubt before she marched up and slammed her fist against the door. “Hello! Is this the house of Zassaal!”

“Kendyll,” Lucian scolded, catching her hand on the fifth knock, pulling it back. “Perhaps no one is-”

Behind the door, a series of locks clicked and snapped before the door peeled back on squealing hinges. A figure stood blocking their view of inside, brown hair slicked back to his head, harsh golden eyes sweeping them curiously. He was tan, like many of the other residents in Calim, and when he spoke, he bore a similar accent.

“Who is requesting visitation.”

Lucian went to open his mouth when Kendyll shoved in front of him. “Lady Kendyll Silvercrest of Halruaa and my faithful companion. We’ve come to speak with Zassaal, he should recognize the name.”

Faithful companion. Lucian withered with irritation and folded his arms over his chest, glowering at the man in the doorway.

“Oh, yes, yes! Of course, the name is quite familiar. Come on in Lady Silvercrest, I shall fetch him for you at once.”

The man quickly disappeared back into the simplistic tower, marching down the foyer lined with a lavish red rug. As they followed, the door shut behind him and Lucian could finally take a gleam of what lay before him. The tower practically tripled in size on the inside. Marble floors with intricate rugs thrown overtop, golden linings on beautifully crafted wood furniture and blown glass. The walls were decorated with masterful paintings framed in fine metals and casings beholding of boastful artifacts.

It was a fine taste, but one that rooted suspicion in Lucian as they were led past a staircase into a hall that opened to several more doorways. The man stopped and bowed before Kendyll. “Right through here, my lady. Please, make yourself at home. Zassaal will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you very much,” she smiled. As soon as the man hooked around to climb the staircase, Kendyll shot Lucian a wink and reached for the door handle. “Sorry, Lucian, but we can’t be too careful.”

“I’m sure you were absolutely torn.” His tone was sour, but Lucian couldn’t begin to be serious with the younger girl. Even after all the years of little contact between them, she never changed.

Kendyll’s grin widened and she pushed the door open, stepping into the room. Lucian stepped in right behind her, but when his eyes adjusted to the torchlit room and roaring fireplace, she was gone.

Instead of Kendyll, a large, tanned figure laid on the couch, sipping from a glass of wine. His warm familiar smile made Lucian’s heart wrench in his chest, the prince stumbling a step forward.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Aven sighed, his features soft as legs shifted over the edge of the couch and he lifted himself up. “Please don’t be mad, Lucian. I’m okay. I was just trying to-”

“To what?!”

Lucian’s voice lashed out in cold fury, his fists clenched tight at his side. Nails dug into his palms, shoulders trembling with strain. How was he here. After all this time, after he spent days hung over his corpse. Aven was dead. Yet here he stood before him as if nothing had come of the fall at the tower. He pinched his eyes shut, whipping himself to face away from Aven. “You’re dead,” he hissed bluntly.

He heard the gentle footsteps of Aven approaching, but never expected the warm hand to ever touch. It rolled over his shoulder, large fingers trailing lightly down his arm. “Lucian, please.” A breath rushed over the back of Lucian’s neck and he bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re dead,” Lucian stated once more. He refused to look back, frozen still like a statue.

“What if I’m not?”

Ice crawled over Lucian’s fingertips, frost lapping at the air. He flexed them subtly and spun around, slamming a cold ray against Aven’s chest. Blue eyes burned with tears, chest heaving as he watched the barbarian stumble back.

“That is enough! Aven Kheistan is dead, so if you are going to help me, do so now or I will go elsewhere!”

Confusion marred Aven’s features for only a moment. He regained his footing and regarded Lucian with a solemn look. And in a fine mist, his form lifted to the air, swept away as if it’d never even existed.

A snap of fingers sounded behind Lucian and the illusion that shrouded the room faded. Kendyll sat frazzled on the couch, hugging a glass of wine, and a new figure took up the single chair closest to the fire. Flames seemed to reach for him. Deep red skin, wicked curved horns, and a fiery lower half that curled with smoke where legs should have been.

“My apologies, Prince Lucian and Princess Kendyll. It’s not often I find myself with visitors,” Zassaal purred, a smile curved upon his lips. He waved a hand and Lucian felt himself fall back into the plush couch, still quelling the daggers biting into his heart.

Despite it, Lucian straightened in his seat, leveling a look to the efreeti. “Kendyll failed to mention what you were when I agreed to come.” Aside from him, he could feel the girl flush red with embarrassment.

“It would not have stopped you from coming, anyhow.” Zassaal leaned forward in his chair, eyeing the prince with interest. “I showed you your greatest desire. You’ve come to revive him, haven’t you?”

Lucian’s jaw tightened, his features remaining cool. He sniffed. “The spell must have been defective, then. What I desire most is my home and my crown, not a single, lowly slave. However, it has come to my attention that he is quite useful in helping me achieve that. I would like him back, yes. Can you make that happen?”

Zassaal tapped a finger to the arm of his chair in consideration, an unearthly amusement still curled at his lips. “Perhaps. How long has this slave of yours been dead?”

“Over a week, now.”

A hum. The efreeti clicked his tongue and rose up from his seat. He nearly towered the two seated humans, turning towards the fire as if reaching into it for his answer. Lucian knew this as nothing more than dramatic flair.

“Do you have something of his?”

The prince grimaced, a hand lifting up to delicately touch the golden band hanging around his neck. Almost protectively. “I do.”

“Bring it here.”

Lucian stood, hesitation curving his fingers tighter around the necklace, and he removed it. He gave it not a second look as it passed to the efreeti. Zassaal pawed it over, examining it as if detecting the authenticity of a rare jewel.

“Yes, yes. This is most interesting indeed.” He lofted the gold band back out to Lucian as he turned. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you. Your slave’s soul has a hold on it.”

Anger rose to Lucian’s cheeks in a blotchy red. “A hold?” he hissed.

“A hold.” Zassaal raised a brow. “Think of it like a curse, if you will. His soul is shackled by a powerful force, meaning there is nothing to pull his soul back with.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care what is wrong with him, you are going to find a way to fix it and bring him back. When I return to my throne you will be rewarded handsomely. Are we clear?”

The tone of Lucian’s voice had a chuckle rolling in the efreeti’s chest. “Mortals are always so reckless.” He retracts the golden band once more and waves a hand. “Very well. Lady Kendyll, please enjoy my home. I will be taking Prince Lucian to my private quarters a moment to complete this.”

Kendyll frowned, leaning forward from her seat. “Complete what? I thought you said you couldn’t do it?”

“Not without a price. The young lord has just told me to fix, seemingly at any cost.” Zassaal folded his arms, looking on to Lucian as if waiting for his reaction over what came next. “In order to link the slave’s soul back to the material plane, he needs an anchor. I am going to use Lucian and a small pool of his mana as that anchor.”

Lucian tightened with tension, his jaw scrubbing forward. He clenched his fists again and blew out a breath. This is for Aven, he reminded himself. A small pool of his mana… surely it could be done without. Anything to bring that barbaric animal back to kill him himself. Teeth gritted together, blonde hair falling messily from his turban as he nodded in Kendyll’s direction.

“Just wait for me. I won’t be long.”

—————————————————–

They were gone for an hour.

Kendyll paced back and forth anxiously, twisting her fingers into her long brown hair as she chewed on the inside of her lip. When Lucian emerged, alone, from the room from which a hellish light poured she turned about. “Lucian!” She gasped. He staggered forward and she rushed to hold him, her fingers twisting into his robes as he leaned to her. His face was white. Beads of sweat dripped down his face. “Gods, you’re burning up.”

“Well, considering mana is your soul, I essentially just had part of my soul just ripped out of me,” Lucian murmured. “Consider me weary.”

“Did it work? Is Aven okay?”

He gave a nod. “It should have.” Lucian looked over his shoulder. The door from which he’d just entered had entirely disappeared. Lucian grimaced. An efreeti…. The most powerful of the djinn. Humanity was lucky they were bound to the whims of mortals. If they had entirely free reign of their awesome, divine like abilities…. He didn’t want to think about it. They staggered from the tower and back onto the streets.

“Are you okay..?”

“He took me into this room. Asked me if I was sure about this. When I assured him I was, he simply…. Reached inside me with smoke. It felt like a damned arm and I could feel his hand clenching around my very soul. And when he pulled, he drew forth this ball of silvery blue light. My mana. Then it was simply gone, and he said the deed was done. My mana was transformed into his anchor and will now tether his soul to the material plane.”

Kendyll stared at him. “That’s all well and good, but are you… okay.”

Lucian didn’t answer for a long while. He leaned to her as they walked, skin seemingly stretched thin against his features, shallow and gaunt. “I think,” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to see Aven.”