Magistrate Kivrad received the Ambassador and his entourage at an estate that overlooked Lake Chillag. The vibrant sails of fishing boats were visible far below, but the property of Aralim’s host was far less idyllic. The original manse had been heavily renovated—including the addition of a new wing—and the timber and other materials dotted the remaining space within the wooden palisade walls. Sweaty servants and guards ran about the place like ants. Twice, Aralim witnessed a guard strike a “servant”, and he was reminded of the breach of Tag’na’s laws that he had witnessed in the form of Hayan’s former slavery.
At least there was a semblance of comfort and calm beneath the green canvas awning. The Magistrate was a man of remarkable girth and rested on a mountain of pillows, while smaller couches and rests had been arranged for his guests. A table of a height matching the cushions—some six inches from the ground—held a variety of refreshments. A masterwork carving of a bare woman’s form adorned the wooden surface beneath the platters of fruits and nuts.
Aralim set his staff against one of the poles supporting the canvas and then stepped closer to Magistrate Kivrad’s monumental shape. He offered his hand, but did not reach far enough that it would be comfortable for Kivrad to take it. As a Walker of the Path, Aralim had no disdain for any particular shape, but he did fear it could be the result of a spirit of stagnation. “Magistrate Kivrad, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry that you were the last on my journey.”
“A pleasure indeed,” intoned the broad man. Instead of shifting his enormity toward Aralim’s hand, he made a polite wave—a mime of a clasped hand at best. “Welcome to my home, my wise Ambassador. We do not see many of your…” he lifted a hand to his olive skin, “fairness, here, so please excuse the reaction of the locals.”
None of the locals had reacted any differently toward Aralim. The olive skin of the Raderan was far more common, but Kivrad was also of a minority. The Numa complexion was rich and dark. Aralim smirked. “You’re the first to mention it in years, actually. I had nearly forgotten.”
Kivrad grinned and gave a nod. Then he spread his hands. “Some refreshments perhaps?” Then to the servants, he barked, “The fans—it’s sweltering!”
At once, the half-clothed servants procured broad fans made of bright fabrics. Others began to pour wine and stronger drinks. Velad’na asked for a tonic of his own preference, while Nill accepted a wine. Aralim waved away the first servant who approached him. “I’m quite all right—this is nothing compared to the heat of Tal’lashar.”
“Ah, out across the desert,” purred Kivrad. “Did you know that travellers from Numa’nakres once made the journey north of the Yurna Mountains, instead of along the coast? A far shorter distance, but a far deadlier venture.”
It felt like it had also been years since Aralim had heard the Yurna Mountains by their traditional name. Most called them the Iron Mountains. To Kivrad, he muttered, “I’m not sure if the current path—by sea—is much less deadly, to be honest. We had quite the journey.”
“Better to focus on matters closer to home, I believe,” Kivrad said. His eyes wandered toward the lake, but Aralim wasn’t certain if he was watching the fishing ships or surveying his servants.
Aralim shifted his weight on the cushions. “And what sort of matters does a city amidst the rainforest focus on?”
Kivrad shrugged, a rolling of his trunk-like arms. Aralim feared he might need servants to change his clothes. The Magistrate explained, “I am more of a businessman than my peers in the other cities, for Rainrest requires shrewd decisions to continue its growth. No one seeks out the depths of the jungle of their own accord, you see? They must be persuaded with the opportunities it presents.”
“Well, I came here of my own accord,” Aralim pointed out with a chuckle. “What do you do to attract business here?”
“We focus on the things Rainrest has that no one else has,” Kivrad explained. Though he was well kept, aside from his girth, a faint line of sweat had started to form at the edge of his black, braided hair. “Gemstones, exotic fruits, the jungle frontier, and other luxuries which profiteering entrepreneurs might seek.”
“So, all of the wealthy inhabitants of Rainrest are…not from Rainrest?”
Kivrad smiled slyly, as though letting Aralim in on a secret. “The richest are—we are the land-owners. But most of our upper class is comprised of those who have immigrated from Rema or from Keb’kres. Such is the nature of remote settlements.”
“And the working class?” Aralim asked. He had spoken with many natives of Rainrest, labourers descended out of the forest itself—but he was curious what stance Kivrad took.
“They have always lived and worked here, and are content to continue.” The Magistrate punctuated his words with a dismissive gesture. He lifted a gold goblet to his lips and wet his palate with wine.
Aralim supressed the urge to roll his eyes. “It has always fascinated me how such systems remain so stable.”
“I am certain those far more educated than I have spent much time studying these things,” Kivrad murmured.
Aralim gave a shrug—he was at a loss to draw something of intrigue out of the giant man. He looked to his comrades for help. Nill gave him a coy smile to one side, but then came to his aid. “Tal’lashar, my home, is also considered a remote city, but it is our cultural achievements, such as the Forty-Seven Towers, that draw many new visitors.”
“Building wonders is a bit beyond Rainrest’s reach,” Kivrad explained. “The city is growing—and one day such expenses will become reasonable.”
This time it was Miresh who piped up, though Kivrad’s wandering eyes still lay upon Nilless. “What are some of the luxuries unique to Rainrest?” Miresh asked.
“Our timber industry exports a wide variety of materials, such as the teak tree. Caravans into the Expanse return bearing white lead for make-up of your own complexion, obsidian and flax collected by the Slithers…have you ever seen a Slither?” Eagerly, he looked toward the youngster for her response.
Miresh shook her head.
“Not personally, although that might be on my list eventually,” Aralim answered, leaning forward. His mind had finally realized where it was that his frustration lay, so he cut to the thick of it: “So you just see your role, for Rema, as…essentially a liaison of business?”
“Perhaps my lack of experience is revealing itself,” Kivrad said, with a smile. “Until the year before last, I was but a simple lord in this city. My best contribution as its Magistrate is to continue my expertise: merchant, procurer…glutton.” He tapped his barely contained gut and chuckled.
Aralim blinked. At best, he’s profitable for the Empire…at worst, we extract what we need from him by controlling his resources. Kivrad concerned him. “Gluttony itself doesn’t bother me, but the inactivity that would lead to your state is concerning to the Path. But those are my opinions—not the Emperor’s, of course.”
Kivrad raised an eyebrow. “My state, you say?” He forced a smile, but there was no humour in it this time. “I have not been inactive, Ambassador. I have built an empire of my own, out here. I have earned all that I eat.”
“Then earn some more,” Aralim urged him. His smile was the most earnest it had been since his chat with Nill on their walk up this hill. “If your desire can bring you here, I want to hear of where you plan to go next. What will be the honour of your next feast?”
Accompanying it with slow nods, the Magistrate gave Aralim a wink. “Grand words from a man in…your state.”
“I’m known for them,” Aralim said, laughing. “But in earnest—if you feel you’ve earned your gluttony, then you should feel pride, not anger, when people draw attention to it. It’s much the same that I know I am an outsider to Rema with no right to even the clothes I wear.”
Kivrad’s expression remained blank. “I am not angry you drew attention—but I did expect some reason for your visit beyond doubts of my abilities. Let’s put them behind us, shall we?”
“Of course. I’m not here to pass judgement on you, Magistrate,” Aralim offered. “In fact, you seem quite focused on your duties. I simply realized that I was the Ambassador for a land to which I had never been. So, I departed Rema to visit each of the main cities. It’s been…” Aralim glanced at Nill to confirm it, “…the better part of the last six months now. I’ve heard your own people’s views of Rainrest over the last few weeks. I simply wanted yours as well.”
“Certainly,” Kivrad said, at last giving Aralim another smile. “Well, enjoy the sights and smells, Ambassador. And do let me know if there is anything I can do for you and your friends.”
Back at their inn, the Ambassadorial team began to pack up their things. There was little more to learn in Rainrest for now, and Aralim was eager to return to Rema—and for the next portion of his mission, investigating the ongoing attacks in the capital. Aralim was the first to finish packing—as usual—so he sought out Miresh in her shared room.
Nill, dressed down to her smallclothes, was packing on the adjacent cot, while Miresh sat next to her oldest friend on her own bunk.
“Miresh, it’s been good to have you with me travelling these last few months, though I think you know there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“I have to get back to my studies, and you have to move more stealthily?” Miresh asked.
“You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” Aralim gave her a small shove, which she played up dramatically, rolling over onto her side. Sometimes her styling—following the ways of Rema—seemed at odds with her more childish antics.
Of course, she was among the most mature children—for her age—that Aralim had ever known.
Miresh straightened up, smoothing the longer portion of her short hair. “Master Velad’na said I can start practicing proper teleportation on the road back to Rema.” She was never hesitant to take pride in her gifts.
“Think you could get it down by Rema?” Aralim asked. “Save me a voyage on the other side?”
“We’ll see,” Miresh piped, smiling.
“While I’m gone this time, I have three people that I want you to keep in touch with, but you can make your own decisions. You have your own journey on the Path, after all.” Aralim tapped the glass pane of her nearby lantern.
“You mean in Rema? Or with letters?”
“In Rema, of course,” Aralim said, with a nod. He leaned in. “First, Nill, of course.”
Nill glanced up sharply. This time it was she who gave Aralim a playful push.
“Tag’na is the second,” Aralim told Miresh. She nodded stoically and waited for the third. “Lastly, the man they call Soot.”