The sun peeked over the horizon as Ujaala and I rode from the gates of Xoc-Nehar into the wastes beyond. The qobad birds, our mounts, settled into a swift trot, eating up the terrain with their long strides. We made our way north, and then east, finding a river that fed the Edda, and following that inland. That first day I gained a healthy respect for the qobad, an opinion that would only grow stronger.
Qobads were swift and tireless, and when we stopped for the night and hobbled the creatures, they foraged efficiently. Their stride was smooth, and they were keen-eyed and tractable. They were the perfect mounts for the Red Wastes.
As with so many of the animals of my youth, the qobad is long extinct, and so I should describe them for readers who are more familiar perhaps the vaalerop or the duskbat. Qobads cannot fly, though at times they moved so swiftly one could be forgiven for believing them capable. They stood tall, with backs at the level of my shoulders, their long, agile necks lifting high above that. Their heads were formidable, sporting curved, heavy beaks. Qobad feathers came in a variety of hues, with individual family lineages identifiable by pattern and color. The ones we rode were covered in black feathers, tipped in yellow. Their heads and necks were entirely bare, the skin as crimson as a Kharsoomian. Their amber eyes were bright, their nostrils a red-orange lump at the base of their beak.
As handsome as they were, their most impressive trait is their ability to live on nearly anything. A qobad can eat anything from small prey to carrion to roots and seeds scratched from the unforgiving earth. A properly trained qobad can feed both itself and its master, and it is for this reason that they were so prized by the natives of Kharsoom.
I beheld Kharsoom for the first time from the back of a qobad, and I believe this was the proper way to experience the Red Wastes. It was a land of stark, cruel beauty. Its soil was red, and during its infrequent rains, ran like blood. The land was dry, great cracks running over the surface, littered with stony hills and gnarled, leafless trees. Kharsoom had jungles and swamps, they tended to be cramped and dense places, the water brackish and foul. Ancient ruins were plentiful, some abandoned, but many more resettled. The Kharsoomians were a proud and insular people, convinced that they still dwelt in the pinnacle of civilization. For the rest of Thür, Kharsoom fell millennia before these events took place.
Its weather was equally harsh. Days were hot, but nights were frigid. The air was dry, always jagged with unshed lightning. When Kharsoom rained, it flooded. In the mountains that bordered the great land to the east and north, the climate could quite easily kill the unwary. I first experienced the freezing Kharsoomian night as the sun began to set that first day. The chill was sudden, surprising me, and not for the first time did I regret no longer having my highland cloak.
I found a rocky dell where we would be shielded from the night winds. "We'll stay here for the night," I said, dismounting.
Ujaala followed suit. She would have been feeling the cold more than I was. I wore a loincloth and boots, both carrying subtle enchantments that would keep at least those areas of my body comfortable, but she was entirely nude. She wore only a golden collar, belt, bracers, anklets, with fine chains running to each, marking her as a slave. She was beautiful, with a voluptuous figure, with thick thighs, heavy breasts, and soft buttocks. Her skin was a dark brown, her hair long and wavy. Her eyes were wide and slanted, nearly black in hue. Her countenance was lovely, round and expressive. Her sex, fleeced in a triangle of hair, drew my eyes often, though it would be a long while before I was able to truly experience it.
Ujaala fixed the hobbles to the birds, and they began their foraging. I gathered dried wood, the only kind available, and built a fire. As I knelt, Ujaala placed one of the furs about my shoulders.
"Thank you," I said.
"Do you wish anything else of me, my lord?"
"Sit down," I said. She obeyed immediately, wrapping herself in the other fur. "I never gave you the terms of our partnership."
"Partnership?" She frowned. "You are my new master, my lord."
"No," I said. I had killed slavers in the past. I had always held a special loathing for their ilk. In fact, a skirmish against hobgoblin slavers had marked the beginning of my first adventure with the Mythseekers. "I do not own slaves."
"You own me, my lord. Lord Kulla gave me to you at your demand. According to the laws of Kharsoom, I am yours."
I sighed. I knew that arguing was pointless. "Your task will be to guide me to Zaqhat's motte."
She nodded. "Yes, my lord. I know the way."
"When you've done this, you'll be free."
"Free?"
"Yes, free."
"I don't understand, my lord."
"You know what free is."
"Yes."
"Then what is confusing you?"
"What would I do with freedom, my lord?"
"Whatever you like."
She shook her head. "My lord, if you give me freedom, all I can do is make my way to the nearest brothel and sell myself to them."
"You have skills?"
"I am a bedslave. I have been a bedslave since I came of age."
"Before that?"
"I can clean. Cook a little. I have not had to do these things, and I have forgotten most of what I knew."
"I see." I stared at her in confusion. I had spoken to entities utterly alien to myself, and yet this was the strangest so far. "Were you always a slave?"
"I was taken as a child, brought to the great market in Deszu where I was purchased as a maid."
"Oh." I tried to think of what that truly meant, how I could bridge the gap of our understanding.
"I will tell you anything you wish to know of me, my lord."
I could not think of anything. "Can you tend a fire?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Do that. I'm going to find some food."
With the fur about her shoulders, she got to work on the fire while I crept off into the hills. I found and killed a lizard the size of a dog, dragging it back to the campfire. The qobads were curious, and greedily devoured the innards I tossed them. I charred fillets over the fire, and though I would have liked some salt, after a day of riding, I was ravenous. Ujaala never requested food, but accepted it with demure thanks.
"Do you wonder why I am hunting the wizard?" I asked. I thought perhaps discussion of goals might give us some ground upon which to begin.
She shook her head. "No, my lord. You are my master, and the reasons are your own. I will serve you and when you find Zaqhat, you will agree to let me continue to serve you."
"You will be free, Ujaala."
"Master, I beg of you."
I held up a hand and she immediately fell silent. "That's all we'll talk of it." I chewed thoughtfully. "You speak Kharish." Until this point, we had been conversing in Huyu. Though she carried an accent, her command of the language was impeccable.
"Yes, my lord."
"You will teach me. That is your first task."
"Would you like to begin now, my lord?"
"Please."
Thus I began to learn the language of Kharsoom. Through Ujaala, I would develop my first rudimentary understanding. It would not be later until my time with Clan Sesamhat that I would gain fluency. I find Kharish to be a pleasing tongue, its rigid forms strange and imbued with significance.
It was two days into our ride that we encountered the first Kharsoomian settlement. On a low hill overlooking a dry riverbed, and surrounded by a crumbling sandstone wall, it was a modest village of less than fifty souls. A millennium ago, it looked like this place had been a walled watchtower, but the central tower had partly fallen, a town of tents crouching amongst its skeleton like a cluster of mushrooms. The locals were Kharsoomian, their crimson skin glistening in the sun. The town's guards, about four of them, carried spears tipped in sharpened bone, and wore pauldrons of boiled leather. They watched us with suspicion, for we were both outsiders, a Rhandonian and a Tabiyyan. Still, they waved us through the front gate.
Once inside, Ujaala and I dismounted, leading our birds. I found a man standing in front of a rack of smoked lizard meat, the air shimmering over the smoker behind him.
He spoke to me. "Hail boldisar," Ujaala translated, though I understood the words of the greeting.
"That is the second time I have been called that."
"It is--"
"Explain later. We could use provisions. Please, negotiate for the meat. Get us a good price."
"Yes, my lord." Ujaala turned to the man and spoke in Kharish. In contrast to her demure attitude with me, she was forceful, gesturing emphatically to make her point. She looked to be a stern negotiator, not giving an inch to the man, even making to walk away before he called her back. When she named the price to me, I found that she had succeeded in my command. I gave the man his silver and walked away with more than enough food for days. She repeated the performance with the local water vendor, filling our skins with gritty, though perfectly potable water.
"Well done," I said.
"I did as you ordered, my lord."
I looked about at the tents and broken buildings of this place. "I don't suppose there's an inn here."
"No, my lord."
"Is it safer sleeping here or out there?"
"Here, my lord. You are a boldisar and you own a slave. It gives you status, even as a barbarian. So long as you comport yourself as you have been, they are honor-bound not to harm you. We will be welcome by the communal fire."
We settled down by it that night, our birds close by. That night, Ujaala sat close, though she was careful not to touch me. As we ate, a Kharsoomian man approached. He was reedy but muscular, his staff partly swollen. He said something to me in friendly Kharish.
I looked to Ujaala. "He is asking you if he might make use of me, my lord," she explained.
"Make use?"
"Lay with me. He is offering to pay. Not very much, but the amount is not an insult."
"You are not be offended?"
"He is being respectful. This is the way it is done. You may accept or refuse. Or if you wish, I can negotiate a higher price, though I do not think he has much more than he has offered."
"What do you want?"
"Whatever you wish, my lord."
I shook my head. "Tell him no. Be polite. I've no wish to spill his blood."
She spoke to the man in low, reasonable tones. The man nodded to her, then to me, and left the fire. Ujaala leaned into me, still wrapped in her fur. "If you do not want him to make use of me, does that mean you wish to?"
"What is a boldisar?" I asked, changing the subject, abruptly uncomfortable with this line of conversation.
