The Clocwor

In all of these accounts, this memoir I find myself creating, my favorites are those that chronicle the meeting of one of my great allies. I believe it is because those who become my mates constantly create new memories of love, but those who turned into friends and allies have the initial meeting of passion, and there it remains as our relationship turns to something else. Think of such figures as Jerrika Grendel, Isellynor Greenhaven, and Syventyth the Eater of Armies to understand what I mean. Lovers once, later boon companions.

This is one such tale. It began some months after my escape from the hippodrome when I started my career as a boldisar. Or perhaps I had restarted it, depending how one thinks of it. I rode a qobad, a reward I accepted from a small village not far from Ghanappur after I slew a bandit that had been troubling them. My steed was a hen, and an even-tempered one at that. I named her Ksenaëe in a fit of grandiosity or sentimentality. I would keep her unto her old age, and she would spend her dotage pampered in a stable in far Zuunkhorun.

I had found myself in what was either a small city or a big town called Inhirnas that rested at the entrance to a series of canyons. The castle was little more than a watchtower at the crest of a hill, an inner wall at the base of the hill surrounding it, then another wall about the township.

No one in this place needed the services of a boldisar, and I intended to stay only long enough to fill my skins with water and acquire enough food to last me for a trek across the wastes. I did not know if anyone from Ghanappur was pursuing me, but I thought putting distance between it and me was a good idea. I had no desire for a quest. Which is why one inevitably found me.

I was at the water merchant, haggling over his dregs, for the quality of water did not matter to one with a sweetwater goblet.

"You are a boldisar?" The voice came from behind me.

I could understand the assumption. I certainly cut the silhouette. My qobad carried a single fur for the frigid Kharsoomian nights. I wore my kilt and boots, and I had added a wide and shallowly-conical hat, the best approximation of headwear I had worn in the Ocaital. Where it once kept the rain off me, now it did the same for the sun, and that made it precious. My spear, Ur-Anu, finished the image, a weapon of obvious magical power. I was a wandering warrior, owning only enough to keep me alive.

The man addressing me wore a copper slave collar with a few gilded sections spaced at irregular intervals. He was slender, but muscled, with a single braided scalplock growing from his crown. He wore a simple harness, with a pair of fighting hooks hanging from it, and a single golden bracelet.

"I am."

"Lord Malab requests the honor of your presence in his castle."

"Don't have much use for nobles," I said.

The water vendor sucked in a shocked breath. "I beg you, boldisar, for my master, come and hear his entreaty," said the lord's man.

I was unused to humility from a Kharsoomian, even a slave, and especially to a barbarian. I was intrigued. "Very well. Lead the way."

He bowed to me, and we made our way through the town. "One thing I can promise you, boldisar, you will not need to drink that muddy slop you were purchasing from that thief. My lord will allow you to fill your skins from his own cisterns."

"I am fortunate."

A momentary frown passed over his features at my neutral tone.

The guards at the gate to the castle waved us in. I relinquished Ksenaëe to the grooms. She protested with a squawk, but I patted the base of her neck, something that never failed to calm her. She hissed, which although it sounded like an angry snake, was the bird expressing happiness. My escort led me into a modest hall at the base of the tower where the lord awaited with two women. I judged the one without the collar to be his wife.

He was younger than most of the lords I had encountered, his hair a glossy blue-black and his belly still relatively flat. His jewelry was modest, though I noted a strange motif, the gold shaped into gear-like designs.

"Boldisar," he said with a welcoming smile. "Please, make yourself welcome. I am Lod Malab of Clan Palisiah."

I had begun to recognize Kharsoomian clans, and though I would never truly understand their labyrinthine politics, I knew the Palisiah to be enemies of the El, which put me somewhat at ease.

"I am Ashuz. Your man said you wanted something."

"Yes, why waste time?" Lord Malab said without malice. He looked to my escort. "Mutesh, if you would notify the kitchens. This brave warrior could use a hearty repast."

Mutesh bowed and moved off. "Thank you, my lord, but a meal is unnecessary. I'd like to hear your offer."

And leave

, was the unspoken part of the sentence, but I believe Malab heard it.

"Ashuz, please meet my wife, the Lady Iltani, and my concubine Ku-Baba." The two Kharsoomian women, both lovely, curtsied to me. I gave a short bow. "I beg of you, noble boldlisar, enjoy our hospitality. I will make my request of you, but I would not have my castle be known as a place where the customs are not respected."

I was hungry, and a meal in a castle was better than the dried lizard meat I had planned to eat. I relented. I would enjoy the lord's hospitality. I sat at the table where the Malab, his wife and concubine joined us.

"Tell us a tale, Ashuz," Ku-Baba said.

"Forgive her," said Iltani, looking at the woman with genuine affection. "She loves all the old stories."

"How about a tale of a dryad?" I asked.

This was acceptable, and I was well into the story when slaves entered, carrying platters of food. For a castle in Kharsoom, it was a modest feast. Kharsoom was not a land of plenty, but nobles often liked to pretend, especially with guests. I was hungry and ate gratefully. When the food and my tale were finished, Malab rose from the table.

"Please, Ashuz, come with me and I will explain the errand I require."

I nodded to the two women and followed Malab from the room. "There was a time when this area was lush farmland, did you know that?"

"It was my understanding that Kharsoom was a land of abundance until the gods died."

He made a dismissive noise. "Superstitious nonsense. Khaesoom was once a great center of learning, with knowledge of secrets unknown to lesser lands. It was not gods who cost us our birthright, but greed and war and all manner of mortal foolishness. Those calamities cost us our knowledge and turned meadow into waste."

"I see," I said.

He smiled. "You are a barbarian, and unused to such stories of Kharsoom's glorious yesterdays. Forgive me, I could not begin to guess your last of origin."

"Qammuz."

He stared at me in confusion, then broke into a chuckle. "Not many barbarians know anything of Qammuz. You are an educated man then, after a fashion. Very good, yes. Qammuz. They often get credit for the inventions of Kharsoom."

I had heard it the other way around from Zhahllaia, who had been there, but I didn't think it wise to bring that up. He led me into the bowels of his tower, continuing to speak. He was at the edge of a rant, but never fell over into the unreasoning anger such a thing implies. Rather, I felt in him a sense of listless grief, a past he wished to recapture yet never truly understood.

As the lower levels expanded, I noted that the bulk of the castle appeared to be entirely underground. This excavation was likely done centuries after the initial construction, transforming what had been a simple watchtower into a dwelling worthy of a lord. Malab's holdings were modest, yet the subterranean parts of his castle were undeniably grand.

"It is my belief that recapturing these discoveries is key to once again placing Kharsoom above the barbarian lands," he said as we reached the terminus of another stair.

"I thought Kharsoom was already above them." I said carefully. Though, to my eyes, Kharsoom was a savage wasteland, to its inhabitants it was a land of unparalleled refinement.

"Culturally perhaps," Malab said. "In other regards, I do not share my people's lofty opinion. I am not the only one who thinks this way."

"I had not known."

"Where I differ is in method. Most believe the solution is magical, but Kharsoom has so few wizards these days such things are difficult to study."

My memory jumped unbidden to something Phaeliope had told me in far Axichis. They too had been producing fewer wizards, and by the time of the Turquoise Conquest, had stopped altogether. I wondered then if this was a sign of a failing civilization. I could not know how close my supposition was to the truth.

As the hill had grown fatter at the base, so too had the corridors widened and the chambers multiplied. Finally, when we were deep in the earth, we came to a heavy door, banded with iron. Then he did something remarkable. He knocked.

He did not wait for an answer, only pausing between knock and opening, but the knock itself from a Kharsoomian lord in his own castle was one of the more remarkable sights I had ever beheld.

An expansive workshop waited on the other side, the air redolent with lightning and oil. As we walked in, we came to a railing, and I noted that the entryway was in fact a balcony overlooking a central chamber. I saw no method of organization here, merely a collection of benches and tables, scattered with strange devices and parchment covered with cramped writing. A central table held a shape covered by a sheet, strange looming devices all about. Machines hummed, the likes of which I had never seen, and would not until the rise of Hegal-Toth. The strangest aspect of this place was that I smelled not the slightest hint of magic. Its absence was a scent of its own, disorienting to one so used to its touch.

Scuttling from bench to bench and device to device was a gnarled and gnomelike Kharsoomian woman. Her back was hunched, her skin wrinkled. She wore a leather apron in addition to her harness, as well as an elaborate head set with a collection of lenses that could be moved in front of her baleful eyes. Most notably, she wore no collar.

"Paldina," he called. "A boldisar has come."

"A boldisar," she sneered. "Don't let him touch anything."

"No, Paldina...for our errand."

The old woman looked up, moving a lens from her eye to peer up at us. The eye still carried a squint, but they were a bright amber. "I see. Well, bring him down."

Malab led me down a spiral staircase onto the floor of the workshop. Workshop was a reductive term. This was a laboratory, the finest I had seen to this point. This place was where Malab spent his money, and judging by the wealth of inventions scattered about, he was getting his money's worth. I was no great understander of politics, but I still believe I was seeing the corners of Clan Palisiah's massing of strength against Clan El.

Paldina went to the table draped with a sheet. The shape beneath looked almost human. I shivered, wondering what she would show. I smelled no decay in the air, but I would believe she had ways of staving such things off.

"In the old days of Kharsoom," Malab said quietly, "We had no need of slaves. Our labor was done by golems."

"Golems are no great secret," I said. Such creatures were not common, but they were far from unknown, with several methods that could lead to their construction. When I had been a wizard, I had considered eventually learning their secrets.

"These were," said Paldina. "Better than any kind you've heard of, for they had no need of magic. No need of the divine. A child could make one with a proper kit." She moved the sheet aside, revealing a half-finished human shape. The body looked formed of a combination of wood, porcelain, gold, and iron, and was missing a left arm and a right leg. The face was stylized, looking more like a mask than a face. Its hair was ribbons. It was as much a functional object as it was a work of art. I had not thus far been impressed by Paldina, but one look at this creature told me I was in the presence of no small amount of intelligence and skill.

"I don't understand why you need the services of a boldisar," I said.

Malab looked at Paldina, and for the first time, the crone looked self-conscious. "Yes, well," she said. "The old golems had minds, proper ones, built of strange metals and arcane maths. They thought, and felt, and knew. It is a delicate process to create them. I managed it once."

"But it escaped," Malab blurted.

"Escaped," I said. "Make another."

"When it left, it absconded with my notes," Paldina said. "The knowledge in there was the result of decades of learning and experimentation. A lifetime of work really. It is irreplaceable. If I am to create a golem, as my lord commands, I need either notes or golem."

"And both should be in the same place," said Malab, smiling hopefully at me.

"You want me to retrieve them," I said.

"Oh, this one is quick," said Paldina. "He should be able to find them without any trouble."

"Paldina, please. Now is not the time. Boldisar, what say you?"

Curiosity had seized me, that explorer spirit that had never truly left me even when everything else did. I wanted to see this golem, to understand if Paldina's craftsmanship was as remarkable as I believed. "Yes, I will do this."

"Wonderful! You can depart in the morning."

Malab promised me payment for my task, some silver and the food and water it was customary to gift a passing boldisar. He gave me the use of cozy quarters on the upper levels of his tower. I started a fire in the hearth, stripping off my meager clothing. I cannot explain it, but to be nude before a fire in a chill Kharsoomian night is its own thrill. I had settled down onto the furs before the blaze when a knock came at the door.

"Come in."

A lovely woman entered. She wore only a slave collar and a narrow chain belt. She had smooth deep olive skin and long black hair, and a bit of silky fleece at the apex of her thighs. Her breasts were round and upturned, her nipples hard. Tattoos at the corners of her mouth marked her as Lixhan. I thought of my Ixem. I longed for her, and perhaps this night, I might pretend this fetching creature was she.

"You are the lord's bedslave," I said.

She curtsied. "Ohtli."

"Ohtli," I said. "Come here."

She joined me on the fur rug by the fire. She shivered, and I merely held her gently, stroking her buttery skin. "How do you wish to use me, brave boldisar?"

"Be with me for a time," I said.

"As you wish," she said, cuddling closer. Our bodies fit together, and soon I found my arousal growing. When I finally took her on that soft rug before the roaring flames, I found her sweet and pliable. Her cries were music, her bliss shattering. Then we slept.

I set out from Inhirnas the following morning laden with provisions. Malab had provided me a map of the network of canyons where he believed the golem had fled, but it was far from complete and contained many sections I would later find to be entirely wrong. The rest would be up to my skills as hunter and tracker. Though the terrain was different, I was grateful for my time in the steaming jungles of Uazica for allowing me to hone these abilities.

The canyons were a maze. I could understand how the golem had chosen them for refuge and why the maps were so woefully incomplete. I scoured the game trails for weeks, hunting for signs of my quarry. I found only bare rock and punishing sun. I almost despaired, readying myself to return to Lord Malab in defeat when I felt eyes upon me.

It is difficult to define that sensation, but I believe everyone has felt it at one time or another. It is a weight upon the back of the neck, a slight tickle like the touch of a djinn. Ur-Anu never traced a thread along the viewer's fate, so I was comfortable with the idea that I was in no immediate danger. The watcher was apparently content to watch.

A week or two after the initial feeling, I began to notice tracks. They weren't mine nor did they belong to my qobad. They had the shape of human prints, but the weight was all wrong. Not only was the individual heavier than the size would indicate, the weight rested in the wrong places. I briefly thought of how proud Velena or Chala would be of me, as my time in exile had honed more than my fighting abilities.

Then finally, almost two months since I had left Lord Malab, I saw a silhouette on a ridge. I made for it instantly, but by the time I rode to its position, the figure was gone. The tracks, though, were plain. I followed the trail for as long as I could, losing it over a rocky stretch of ground. The shape appeared again the following day, closer. And then closer.

It was one chilly morning when I awoke by the embers of my fire, my head resting on Ksenaëe's feathery flank, when I first beheld my quarry.

She, and I could no longer use the pejorative "it" with such a creature, was only just close enough to begin to make out features. Her basic silhouette was feminine, though her waist was smaller than any woman's could be. I would find later it was little more than a swivel, granting her incredible mobility. Discrete parts of her body were shapely, but invariably where there were joints, her artificiality was laid bare.

"What do you want?" Her voice was next to me but she had not moved.

"Lord Malab bade me find you."

"You should have lied."

"Perhaps. I imagine you would have seen through it. Better be honest now and start from a place of trust."

"I will not return to Inhirnas. I fled for a reason."

"I wondered."

She was silent for a time. When she was still, it was the stillness of the inanimate, with none of the tiny movements of life. She could be uncanny, and in the time before we were friends and allies, I found myself unnerved by her inhumanity. Yet at no point did Ur-Anu warn me of attack and lay out the dance of death that would render her permanently still.

"What will you do then?"

"My name is Ashuz, sometimes called Blackspear." I paused and couldn't help myself. "Sometimes called Farmer. I am not unreasonable, but I am determined. If you leave now, I will continue to hunt you. But if you speak to me, I will listen."

"Speak to you how?"

"Escaping slavery is no crime. But only a person can be enslaved. An object cannot."

She was silent again. Later I would find that when she was quiet like this, a soft whisper of whirs, clicks, and flutters came from her. "Your terms are accepted. I am Kushan-Hegal."

She approached, and I could see her more clearly. Every portion of her body was of sculpted porcelain, occasionally spiderwebbed with cracks. Her joints were exposed clockwork gears of shocking copper and gold against the bone white of her body. Paldina, if she truly was the sculptor, had given her a shapely chest, pelvis, and legs. Her hair was a mane of ribbons, varying shades of blue like a cascade of water.

Her face was the most interesting part of her, a feat of unparalleled craftmanship. The panels of porcelain were tiny, and as she changed expression, pieces moved about, some sliding beneath others to subtly alter the layout of her visage. As they moved, I could occasionally catch glimpses of the whirring clockwork gears beneath.

Her mouth appeared to be coated in something soft, and within, I saw an agile tongue, that I would later learn was of a shocking length. Her eyes were the most beautiful part of her. Opals, they resembled the stones set into the circles at the base of my spear's blade. They were night skies, impossibly deep and vast.

"Well met," I said. "Make your case."

"Not here," she said. "I have something I wish to show you."

I swung myself into the saddle, and spurred Ksenaëe to her side. "Lead on."

My qobad squawked once as we approached the clockwork, but that was the limit to her protests. It was as though she wanted to warn me that we were nearing a creature that should make me nervous but unaccountably did not. A warning to her master, too foolish to recognize danger.