The Peasant Queen

II Boulden nowadays.

II

Boulden nowadays.Boulden's transient district was located just south of the slave market square. There were inns, taverns, and all sorts of businesses useful to travelers. In one of these inns, which was far from luxurious, but decent, Deirane and her son, Hester, had taken a room. She returned there immediately after her bids at the market square.

They came out at nightfall. She still wore her cloak, to protect her from the cold that the heat since the end of the war had almost eradicated, but she had traded in her courtesan outfit for a light, loose shirt and a pair of leather pants. She had also removed her makeup, camouflaged the ruby within a silver mesh of which it seemed to be a part. Her only jewelry was a pair of polished bronze chains on each wrist and a bracelet made of several rows of small beads of seemingly random shape and color. Its clasp was a small plate engraved with an intricate pattern. There was nothing she could do about the diamonds on her cheeks, but in the dim light they could easily be mistaken for Sangären tattoos. She had often used this artifice so as not to be noticed. And this evening, she hardly intended to expose herself to the light. Her only concession to femininity, her hair left loose behind her back, made her look like a teenager.

She walked down the still busy street towards the riverbank. Her son was walking beside her, but it was clear that she was the one deciding which way to go. The young man looked like a scholar, not a man of action. He was trying to fool people as much as he could, but any good swordsman would understand right away that he wasn’t the one to watch. Deirane's confident gait and apparent nonchalance were a danger signal to any trained spy. The couple arrived at a tavern. Feigning submission, she let him enter first.

Most of the conversations ceased immediately. Apart from soldiers and waitresses, it was rare to see a woman in this place, especially a human. Some saw it as a provocation, others as an invitation. In most cases, it ended badly. The woman was being accompanied and the young man didn’t seem to be comfortable, so the drinkers didn’t budge. There were so many more welcoming women that there was no point in taking a bad shot. At most, they just looked at her insolently.

Only one group, gathered around a table, hadn’t flinched when they entered. They were watching a game between two of their own. They were a group of Helarieal free warriors who had been brought together in this city by the luck of their mission. These individuals were warriors in name only. They knew how to fight, but their role was that of a police force with a mandate to act anywhere in the world. Many lords would have thrown them out of their domains, but the Prince of Boulden couldn’t afford it.

Their freedom of action, the presence of many women in their midst and the symbol of justice that they evoked were at the origin of a whole romantic literature featuring them. The most popular hero of this genre was Gaba, a very beautiful dark-haired warrior who travelled the world to resolve injustices.

The people of Helaria professed strict gender equality in most tasks, including war. In their ranks, there were almost as many warriors of both sexes, and the presence of a woman in a tavern was no surprise to them. If, when Deirane entered, some of them looked up because she was beautiful, they had quickly resumed their activity. In this case, it was a game of chess. It was between a Stoltz and an Edorian, watched with interest by their companions of both peoples and sexes. Even for Helariaseny, this kind of hobby wasn’t common, which made this group all the more remarkable.

The young man guided Deirane to them.

“Gentlemen," he said in a shaky voice, "could we have your attention for a moment?”

The Stoltz player looked up.

“Can't this matter wait until after the game?”, he asked.

“Of course, we're only a few stersihons away," Deirane said softly.

The participants’ interest was aroused. Everyone had understood who the head of the duo was. They were intrigued by the way the move had been announced. Above all, the identity bracelet had been revealing. The message transcribed in its pearls was instantly read. Many outsiders in the Pentarchy wore them, but few had been vetted by Calen of Jetro, the Librarian of Helaria. Technically speaking, this woman's power ended at the gates of her university, but she was so respected that most Helariaseny would do anything for her, even giving up their lives.

The chess players settled into their seats and waited.

“It's a girl," said the young man, "a slave. She was captured a few weeks ago from her parents and sold here a little less than a monsihon ago4 .

“You want to give her back to her parents, isn’t it?” asked the Edorian.

“That’s my desire, indeed.”

“And are the parents rich enough for you to embark on such a quest?”

“No, I'm afraid not. That's why I'm in charge, they couldn't afford the services of a warrior.”

A murmur ran through the group. From other parts of the room came snickers. The Edorian's tone showed that if he didn't say anything, he was thinking the same thing as those laughing.

These warriors weren’t that different from those of other realms after all. While they were more careful with their words, they thought the same as every soldier in the world. To free a young girl out of altruism and get her back to her parents, without compensation, was very foreign to them.

“That's an honorable thing to do," said the Edorian, "but is your slave a Helariasen?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Was she captured in Helaria?”

“No, she wasn’t captured in Helaria.

“Is she from a place with power to use our services?”

“From Yrian.”

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do. We can act on Yrian territory, but not in its name. s*****y is not f*******n in Boulden. And the activities of this city do not conflict with the laws of the Pentarchy, which only apply to our citizens or on our lands. This girl is outside our jurisdiction, sad as it is.”

“So, you refuse to help me?”

“We would like to, but we don’t have the right, unfortunately.”

The young man looked sheepish.

But Deirane instantly left her role of a submissive and self-effacing woman. She tipped back her hood, revealing her jewel-encrusted face.

“Some of you must remember me”, she said.

The men hesitated, but one of them nodded.

“And does this bracelet mean anything to you?”

“We respect Dean Calen. But the fact that she placed her trust in you years ago doesn’t give us the right to break treaties signed by our Pentarchs. That could lead to war and would cause far more deaths than a simple slave. Besides, if I openly disobeyed orders, I’d never be able to return to Helaria, and I have a wife and children there.”

“I see," said Deirane, "I was hoping I could count on you. I was mistaken.”

She should never have said those last words, but disappointment made her bitter. She put her hood back on and turned away from the players. They looked sad, but their hands were tied. She was heading for the exit when a female voice stopped her.

“So, you're trying to lure away my men”.

Deirane and her son slowly turned around. The woman who had called out to them was leaning casually on the bar, a mug in her hand. She was wearing an outfit quite similar to Deirane's, but she had tied the shirt under her breasts to expose her waist, and opened her bodice to reveal her breasts. In fact, the way it was unzipped seemed to indicate that an inquisitive hand had just left the area. Right next to her, a man looked rather sullen.

Hester scrutinized the woman. She was obviously the kind of person who had inspired the author of Gaba's adventures. She was beautiful, with an athletic demeanor that didn’t alter her femininity in any way. She appeared independent and looked young, younger than her mother. But her feline eyes and shimmering skin were those of a Stoltzin. These people had a much longer life than anyone else. She could be any age between twenty and a thousand years old.

On seeing her, Deirane's face was shining with such joy that Hester hadn’t seen in months.

“Are these your men?" she asked.

“Who else but me would recruit chess players?”

“I thought the free warriors were independent.”

“These are soldiers, I'm the only free warrior in this room.”

“Helarieal soldiers here! Does the Prince of Boulden tolerate this?”

“How could he object?”

The two women hugged each other like two old friends.

“Saalyn, I never thought I would see you again.”

“It's a small world, we were bound to run into each other sooner or later.”

Saalyn. Hester didn't know that name, but not everyone in the room did. Most of the soldiers turned to get a better look at the one bearing it. As for her one-night stand, he seemed to have given up his plans and was now trying to get away from her as quietly as possible. The looks that came her way were of fear or admiration, often both. At their table, the Helariaseny seemed quite satisfied with the effect their companion had produced.

Saalyn had good reason to be famous. As the first free warrior in Helaria, she had enjoyed almost a century of success and few failures. Her original mission, to rescue and return Helaria's slaves to their homeland, had quickly spilled over. She had ended up bringing everyone back, regardless of race. For example, she had brought the first Edorians into the Pentarchy, turning it into a multi-ethnic State. It was estimated that, either directly or through their descendants, half of Helaria's inhabitants owed their freedom to her.

Paradoxically, while she was feared for her talents as a warrior, it was in this field that she was least known. Her missions were more about spying than direct attack. She was a master of stealth and camouflage in a world where these two words didn’t yet exist. So, her greatest successes were unknown to the general public.

Her intelligence, her beauty, her gifts as an observer, her ability to play any role, to bluff, her tenacity, everything was a weapon and she freely used them to accomplish her mission.

Her consecration came when, eighty years earlier, she had brought back into the fold the Pentarchs who had disappeared during the war against the Feythas. But what she was best known for wasn’t even an act she had performed herself: the revenge led by her fellow guild members against Jergo the Younger, the one who ironically had made her his personal slave, two decades earlier. A cruel revenge, worthy of what she had suffered at that time.

So, this is what Saalyn was, this nonchalant Stoltzin slumped against the counter of this tavern. And she spoke to Deirane like an old friend.

“Have something to drink and come join me there," she said, "and explain this matter to me.”

She pointed to a discreet alcove. She was busy, but as she approached, the drinkers suddenly remembered that they had an urgent business elsewhere.

When Deirane and Hester joined her, the beautiful free warrior wasn’t alone. Four Helariaseny were sitting next to her, all Stoltzts. They took their places on the free bench.

“Deirane," Saalyn began, "it's been a long time since we last saw each other.”

“Twenty years ago.”

“And all this time, you haven't been able to find a single moment to come and see us?”

“I've been very busy all these years.”

“I know, we've followed a lot of your exploits.”

“So, you knew where to find me all this time, why didn't you come?”

Saalyn burst into a crystalline laugh that brought a smile to Deirane's face. Then she turned to the young man.

“And this handsome boy is certainly your son. And considering his age, he must be the oldest, Hester.”

The young man was taken aback.

“How do you know me?" he asked.

“I delivered you," Saalyn replied.

Deirane raised a questioning eyebrow that wasn’t lost on any of the Stoltz present.

“Okay, a midwife delivered you, but your mother was in my arms.”

Deirane's gaze grew sharper, drawing some laughter.

“You're tough, Deirane. Actually, it was Celtis, a young woman on the Embassy staff who was soothing your mother, but I was there.”

“The embassy? Which embassy?”

“You were born in the Helaria Embassy in Sernos. Didn't you know that?”

“No one ever told me where I was born," replied Hester.

“Celtis, I haven't thought about her for a long time. What has become of her?" asked Deirane.

“Last I heard, she was traveling in the mountain kingdoms. She wanted to see the whole world before going home and settling down. But my information is about fifteen years old, so I don't know what she's doing now.”

“It doesn't take fifteen years to see those kingdoms.”

“To go across them, a few days are enough. But to really get to know them, that's far from enough. Usually, she stays there for a year and then hits the road again. There are over twenty kingdoms. She must still be there.”

Deirane felt a pang of emotion for the young Stoltzin who had been so close to her in the past, before returning to the discussion at hand.

“In fact, Saalyn was very helpful to me during your birth. I was so busy reassuring her that it took my attention away from the pain. I think I even remember her turning away.”

Sardonic smiles greeted the revelation. So Helaria's most famous warrior, after the twin Pentarchs, had some weaknesses.

“You humans do lose a lot of blood," Saalyn pleaded.

“You must have spilled quite a bit yourself," Deirane remarked, "You weren’t kind to your enemies.”

“And mine has been spilled a lot too. It's not the same thing. In fact, it's not at all the same, whether the blood belongs to a friend or an enemy.”

Deirane smiled.

“The first time I saw Saalyn, she wanted to kill me," Deirane explained.

“Not exactly, but to teach you a lesson, you had just hurt Calen.”

“The Dean?" asked Hester.

“Yes. But when I tracked down this poor, frightened, starving, injured and obviously abused peasant girl, I felt sorry for her. All I could do was reach out to her and help her up. At that time, I had just gone through similar ordeals. I understood what she must have gone through.”

Saalyn put her hands on the table and looked Deirane in the eyes.

“This slave you want to rescue, is she your daughter?” she asked.

“No, she's a peasant girl kidn*pped from her parents and sold into s*****y," Deirane replied.

“Why do you want her back so badly? Is it because she reminds you of your own story? Or because you know her family?

“A bit of both.”

Saalyn thought for a few seconds.

“I heard you were a warlord, and a good one, for a few years. So, you must have learned how to make a detailed report. So go ahead.”

“The sale took place this afternoon at the seventh monsihon on the central market platform. I have no idea who bought her. And I couldn't see him. But I did get a glimpse of the person who validated the transaction, an Edorian. The payment was made in Helarieal assignats. Since slave traders don't trust paper money, delivery should only take place after the banknotes have been turned into good gold coins. So not until tomorrow, since the banks were closed at the time of the sale.”

“Helarieal assignats. Is that why you came to us?”

“Partly. I thought you could easily get the identity of the buyer. I don't have the authority to investigate Helaria banks, you do.”

“The prison doesn't seem to have damaged your brain anyway.”

A veil passed over Deirane's eyes.

“I see that you know much about of my life.”

“As with all the people who make news around the world, we have a file on you, as thick as your arm. But it's not complete. It tells us all about why you were imprisoned, but it doesn't explain how you got out. In fact, we even thought you died there, until today.”

“I got to see the buyer," Hester said, "I was tall enough to get through the crowd.”

Saalyn held back a smile, it’s true that Deirane wasn’t very tall. She could barely reach the shoulder of her son sitting next to her. If the fairies had bent over her cradle in great numbers and given her many qualities, height wasn’t one of them.

“He’s a tall Drow,” Hester continued, “about a pole and nine palms high, dark almond-shaped eyes, thin mouth, no particular signs. He wore a black leather tunic, same for his pants. On his left ring finger, he had a ring, I noticed it because it looked quite poor for such an individual, two rubies framing a fake diamond of poor quality on a copper ring, a poor woman's ring. He was armed, on the left he carried an ornate dagger in a scabbard attached to his belt, and I suspect another in the right boot.”

“You could see all this drowned in the crowd?" asked Saalyn.

“He was standing a little bit apart. Well isolated from the people.”

“Logical, an individual of his kind wouldn’t mingle with the plebs.”

She then noticed that Deirane had changed her attitude. She had become silent. Her face was now showing intense panic.

“Any problem?" asked the free warrior.

“I know this fellow," Deirane replied in a faint voice.

“Who is he?”

“I don't know his name, but I know who he is. Or rather, what he is.”

An expression of annoyance crossed the faces of those seated at the table. They were hoping for a revelation, a name they might recognize. Saalyn spoke first.

“Why don't you tell us what you know about him.”

“It isn’t something I like to recall. That ring belongs to me. It was my older sister who gave it to me.”

She hesitated, searching for those words.

“I must tell you my story for you to understand.”

“What story?

“From the beginning, how it all started.”

She pulled up the sleeve of her shirt, tearing it in her haste, revealing her arm studded with gems and embroidered with gold thread.

“How this happened” she replied.

“You’re arousing my curiosity, when you were with us, you never told us.”

“I’m sorry. When you first met me, it was still very fresh in my memory. It was hard to talk about it. After that it was too late. My life had taken a totally unexpected turn. I...”

She ran her tongue over her lips, delaying the moment to begin telling her story.

“I think it's best to start from the beginning, when I was living with my parents, so that you can see how much I lost.”

“That's better," Saalyn agreed.

Other Helarieal soldiers sat on the benches around the table, ready to listen to the story she would tell them.