Merchant Crossing

The portly merchant bedecked in fine jewels, turban and colorful silk robes bowed before the stately figure seated by the hearth. "I herald the Third Exodus," Ba'sir said solemnly. The blue-robed mystic beside him deliberately mirrored his actions, but kept silent. The panther straightened slowly, wary of the king's reaction to his announcement.

Lir shook his head from side to side, the strands of his long black mane gently swaying. He placed his right hand against his brow. His elbow rested against the arm of his chair for support. The simple movement conveyed sorrow. With his left hand, the lion gestured for merchant and mystic to sit.

Ba'sir wondered whether the finely carved furniture would withstand his great weight. He eased himself onto a chair, and prayed that it would not crack. The wood groaned in protest, but held. Gods be praised, he prayed silently. I will take this as a sign of a good beginning.

He gazed at the mystic, and marked the tension knotting his shoulders. I can surmise your motive, Tir'shan, but now you pay the price for keeping your secret from Lir, he thought.

The white tiger leaned forward, his manner submissive. "My king--"

Lir waved his hand as if to fend off the words. "Forego the feigned politeness, Tir'shan. You asked for a private audience. I have rejected the counsel of my nobles, and I have permitted it, here, in my own chambers. And what is my reward for trusting a priest of Mrísena? You bring a stranger into our midst, one who pronounces bad tidings. What have you withheld from me!"

The king rose swiftly from his chair. The merchant noted that he was only a few inches shorter than himself, but lacked the powerful build of males of his race. He was long and lean, like an Asri'i, and in the prime of life. The lion's tawny hands balled into fists, his arms locked with rage. His golden robes could not conceal the strength contained within his straining muscles.

The townspeople that followed us to the palace, the guards and the nobles probably feel the uneasiness bound to the unknown, if not the fury, Ba'sir decided. The merchant remembered the stares and the whispered insults he had overheard during their journey to the king's quarters. He was an uninvited guest. "I am not a messenger of evil, but one of hope," he heard himself suddenly spout defensively.

The king's dark brown eyes, unique in their rare beauty, fixed upon him, brooding and intense. "Who are you! You appear to be one from lost Thundera, but that cannot be."

"But it is," Ba'sir said softly. "I remember the northern mountains well. Life was hard, but all in our village lived peacefully. That is until the day of reckoning came with the Mutant ship."

"He speaks the truth, my king," the mystic quickly interjected. "Seasons ago, the Reptilians destroyed his village. The Jackalians took the survivors off-world, and sold them into slavery. Few of us can imagine what Ba'sir has experienced or has suffered."

The king accepted the unexpected revelation of Mutant slavery without question, as if it were something he had always suspected. Instead, the lion turned his questions back to the merchant's past. He asked with suspicion, "What village?"

"It exists on no map, my king. No home for a'tri'i would," Ba'sir replied.

"And are you eff'ri'tran?"

Only a king would hurl such an insult at me and live, the merchant thought with growing annoyance. "By the laws of Thundera, yes, for no clan councils approved my birth. My father was from the north, and of a red tiger clan loyal to the crown. My mother was of the panther race, and Asri'i."

Lir seated himself again. He leaned back on his chair, his anger appearing to fade. "Northern tiger blood would explain your height, for even one of Asri'i blood is not as tall as you are. Yet, your flat nose and wide lips hint at a lost Sev'rati ancestor," he commented casually. "Heritage aside, your fatness indicates that you are one who prefers too much comfort, a mark of an indolent nature."

My disguise has again served me well, for it has certainly set you upon the wrong track concerning my character, Ba'sir decided with satisfaction. Now you will not consider me a threat. That is to my advantage, for you will not notice what Tir'shan and I have left unsaid.

Ba'sir warmed with smugness. You will not share in my secrets, false king. That knowledge I might reserve for the true Lord of Thundera. To Lion-o, son of Claudus, I may tell all, as befitting my jan'nirri lineage.

The merchant purred, "After my life in servitude ended, I compensated myself for the...deprivations I had endured."

"And how did you win your freedom?" the king asked.

"There is a world where people like those from our legends live. It is called Xi Four." The truth. "It was my fortune to have been bought by an old one desiring a heir. He was a...scholar." A partial truth. "I, however, set my sight on a different road, for my desire for riches was great. Upon his death, I inherited his spaceship and a tidy sum which, as a merchant, I enriched. My wealth sustains me in the grand manner to which I have become accustomed." More truth than falsehood," Ba'sir decided abashedly, rubbing his girth for emphasis.

"The others of your village?"

"Once I had a starcraft, I searched for them, but to no avail." He paused, searching for any effect his nonchalant statement had taken upon the king.

Tapping the arm of his chair, Lir's brow knotted in contemplation, "Perhaps I have misjudged you."

"Ba'sir never found the lost ones from his village, but he did locate others of our people," the mystic swiftly added, taking advantage of the king's softening attitude.

"A group of six had also been taken into slavery some seasons after mine. They came from Mehtar."

The king roared, "And we blamed Sartren for the destruction of that village, for he had also conquered Ker'ani!"

"The Mutants walked in the tiger king's shadow in seizing the opportunity to attack," Tir'shan remarked thoughtfully.

"And those of Sartren's followers that now dwell among us probably know this truth! Damn Jaga and Claudus for having shown mercy to any of his people. All of them should have died with Thundera!" Lir shouted. "Their vows of allegiance to the crown mean nothing."

"Then execute them and be done with their treachery," Ba'sir commented coldly, "or try to earn their loyalty, and make them forget Sartren. On the new world that is to become your home, this problem will not disappear, but will only get worse. Attend to it!"

"What right do you have to offer such counsel!" Lir countered with fury. "What makes you believe that we would undertake another exodus?"

"For one reason, the son of Claudus, the true heir to Thundera's throne, is alive on this new world called Third Earth. I have also discovered that he survived with a group of nobles. They traveled in the Royal cruiser to this planet. Thus, this matter may eventually not be one for your tending, my 'king'. Because of Tir'shan's instruction, I am also sure that you have come to understand the power of the asira'savi. Now that others of our kind have been discovered, the serpents want you off their world. They grow bored with their experiment. They have given us 'instructions' to relate to you only for the sake of your knowledge, not your approval."

The tip of the long sword that had hung over the fireplace suddenly pressed lightly against his neck, and Ba'sir realized the misjudgment of his too sharp words. The king had retrieved the blade with such speed that even a member of the cheetah race would have been envious. Tir'shan gaped. Ba'sir hoped that the white tiger would not shake off his shock, and attempt any foolish heroics on his behalf.

"I will leave, if that is your wish" Ba'sir murmured in appeasement, taking care not to move anything but his lips.

"I cannot force you off this world. The mystics may give you sanctuary at their temple, as they may do for all who are a'tri'i. But you will not enter my city again!" Lir commanded, the deadly part of his threat remaining unvoiced. The lion king stepped back, withdrawing his weapon.

Ba'sir stood. He placed his hand over his heart, then bowed slightly. "Trust to Tir'shan's counsel, or all will be lost." He braced for the cut of the blade, and when it did not strike, the merchant straightened. He serenely met the king's glare, which flickered with doubt and dimmed perceptibly in its harshness. In that moment he became convinced that Lir, despite his martial attitude, had the wisdom to listen to the mystic. Keeping his faced respectfully turned toward the king, Ba'sir backed toward the chamber door, then slipped silently through the portal.

Metal points dug into his soft flesh. "The king has given me leave," he said without fear to the two dressed in chain mail who prodded him along the stone wall with their spears.

"We will see, Fat One," the taller of the two, a solidly built panther, snarled, while his counterpart gained access to the king's chamber.

"It is as he has said, but we are to escort him to the western gate, and make sure that he departs," the cheetah remarked upon his return.

The tip of the panther's spear pressed too hard against the merchant's garment, and rent it. "My apologizes," he said with contempt, "but we must be on our way."

"No need to be rough, Talar," the cheetah admonished as he lead the way. "Our orders are clear." The panther grunted in acknowledgment, but snuck in an extra poke which his comrade did not see, but which drew blood.

A thousand thanks, swift one, for the gift of your fellow's name, Ba'sir thought, wincing from the nasty slice. At least I can occupy my time thinking of a suitable punishment spell.

The merchant glanced behind once as they traveled the maze of corridors that webbed the Lair. Forgive me, but the matter is now in your capable hands, Tir'shan.

*****

Once beyond the walls of the city, Ba'sir journeyed at a leisurely pace to the temple of Mrísena. The finally risen sun, which would not set for almost a full Thunderan day, illuminated his way. The merchant followed the border where forest and plain met, contemplating his next action. Upon his arrival at the series of stone buildings that housed Thundera's mystics, he made a formal request for a room of his own, one that lacked windows.

The chief snarf housekeeper, a venerable elder, questioned him not. Ba'sir assumed that Te'sara, the leader of the mystics, had already given the ancient one permission to grant the expected petition. The room that Denorin had selected was located at the end of a dark corridor, deep within the temple complex. It possessed an outer hallway in which someone had carelessly stacked several rows of books, suggesting that it was one area that was rarely used. The inner room was small, circular and sparsely furnished, but adequate to his needs.

Once he was alone, and had sealed the chamber, Ba'sir extinguished the glow ball which the servant had given to him. He sat on the stone floor, his back supported by comfortable cushions. Wishing his feet to remain warm, he kept on his soft leather boots. He removed his orange turban, and tossed it onto the low bed, where it landed silently. Ba'sir untied the yellow cloth belt that girded his great waist, and allowed the folds of his robes to spread wide. Preparations complete, he cupped his hands, then began to sing. A thread of red light formed between his palms. With each deep tone, the scintillating string twisted upon itself until it had formed a sphere. "Show," Ba'sir hummed. The orb hollowed with clarity. The color faded until only tinted by scarlet. An image grew. The mage intently watched the scene that unfolded in the sphere that floated above his black fingers.

"How many hours must it take me to convince you. Ba'sir's presence has aroused suspicion among the people. The information I have given you is not something that you can keep to yourself. Again I ask you: tell them of the expedition that I must undertake to Third Earth with the atdira'savi. Tell them not of Lion-o until after I have returned, and have confirmed his existence," Tir'shan advised.

"I still cannot believe that Te'sara would permit your leaving. You are ri'sar'ri!" Lir exclaimed. "What if this undertaking results in your death?"

"She has the wisdom not to fight a war that cannot be won," the mystic sighed, "and hard as it may be for you to believe, healing circles can function without me, my king." The mystic looked out the long window by which he stood, tense and brooding. "As for the silence, it will come when the One who brings it wills."

"Lir is a tough one, is he not, mystic," Ba'sir said with a chuckle, "but you are equally persistent."

The lion rose from his chair by the hearth, and walked over to the priest. "It will be as you say, Tir'shan, may all the gods forgive me."

The mystic returned a weary smile. "Thank you, my king."

"And so it is done," Ba'sir remarked. "All that remains is for the serpents to select the day of Tir'shan's departure, and that should be fairly soon."

"And what of Ba'sir? Won't you reconsider your ban?"

The mention of his name drew the merchant's attention quickly back to the sphere. "You have performed one miracle, Tir'shan, do not try for two," Ba'sir remarked with amusement.

"What if he tells the people of Lion-o? He is sharp-tongued, and will no doubt cause trouble in the city. I cannot allow it."

"He already agrees that for the present time, Lion-o's existence should be kept a secret. He will remain silent on this point, and on any other, if I ask him," Tir'shan countered.

Lir folded his arms, and bristled. "Why such faith, mystic? It is obvious that Ba'sir has no respect for me, so why should he respect you, or anyone?"

"He trusts me, my king."

"Do not be too sure of this, ri'sar'ri," Ba'sir growled.

"You are but one individual. You cannot watch him constantly."

"I can depend on Te'sara, if necessary. The Li'am'ra will also help me. He already knows of these events."

"Leave Ryndi out of this conflict," Ba'sir shouted at the sphere of light. The sudden sour twist in his gut defied definition. The light above his hands faltered for a second before he regained his composure. She must stay away, he thought in agitation.

"Was I the last to learn?" the king asked with a huff.

"No," Tir'shan replied politely. "Ta'hir, as befitting his role in our survival, will also be told, and he too can then assist me."

The king tilted his head slightly, a gesture of uncertain submission. "I hold you directly responsible for his behavior, Tir'shan."

"You'll allow Ba'sir access to the city, then?"

"With supervision," the king grumbled as he walked toward a table that had upon it a bottle and three goblets.

"Try following one who is invisible," Ba'sir mocked. Why must I always evade a prison, he reflected solemnly.

"You will not regret your generosity," Tir'shan commented. The white tiger bowed. "I must be going. I may be needed for healing, my king. I will send a messenger on the day of my departure, and one on my return."

"Let us hope that you do return, priest, and that you do it swiftly, for I do not need a revolution."

"And neither do I," Ba'sir snarled. He blew at the sphere, and it dissolved. The darkness of the tomb enveloped him. The merchant sprawled across the cushions. Increasing apprehension tightened the muscles of his neck. He knew what had caused his discomfort: Ryndi. The king's rescission of the ban placed against him removed the best excuse he had for not visiting the servant of V'sri'sar.

The tension moved down his large body and lodged in the region that betrayed his true feelings. How could she bear to couple with me while I wear this form? he considered with gloom. Perhaps she does not care what form I wear. The truth pricked the chamber of his mind where he kept all his secrets safely stored, and made its walls bleed. How can I bear to join with her shaped like this! Why do I put her to a different standard than the others I have bedded? Does she get to close to my heart?

The merchant rolled onto his abdomen. His hands touched stone. Paradoxically, the cool rock encouraged the fire that afflicted him. He wondered if he possessed the courage to surrender the security of his obesity for Ryndi's love.

Ba'sir moved onto his side. He sang softly, and the fire deserted his body. A blaze suddenly appeared in the hearth, despite the absence of wood. The vibrant green flames flickered madly, a testament to its magical origins. This extra flesh is a prison that I have built myself. Do I ever wish to be free of it, he thought as he warmed himself by his own uncertain light.