The Marenon Chronicles Collection

Chapter Nine





“How are we going to find Coffman later?” Nalani asked in a low voice.

Alric shook his head, but spoke confidently. “We’ll find him. He knows his job, and he knows ours. We just have to worry about the medallion for now.”

Nalani couldn’t believe the number of slaves before them. Thousands, not hundreds, labored to build the huge structure that looked like a pyramid. Nalani and Alric wondered at the purpose of this new building project. They both tried to find a clue from the surroundings to surmise what it could be, but there was no point in trying to guess on their own.

The two of them walked through the city streets, unsure of where to start. They knew they needed to find out where the medallion could be hidden, but there was a lot more going on in Voelif than they had originally expected. The city was crowded and bustling with individuals hard at work, with most of the people focused on the massive structure at the city center. The majority of Nestorians wouldn’t know about the orange medallion, much less be able to tell them the location. Perhaps the giant structure would be the key in finding it. The building was obviously significant, and Nestorian Officials would most likely be in charge of such a project. With the presence of important people would come special knowledge. Finding out the structure’s purpose was the first step. When Nalani told this to Alric, he agreed. They walked for a while until Alric stopped at a pub.

“Why here?” she asked him.

“In my experience, people are a lot more willing to talk and a lot less willing to question your motives when they’re drunk,” he said. “And in a busy place like this, there’s always a drunk ready to give away free information, no matter what time of day.”

He opened the door, but Nalani reached out to his arm to stop him momentarily. “Just remember that I can’t talk, ok?”

“Right,” he said. “I won’t let it happen again.”

They walked into the pub not knowing exactly what they would find. Did Nestorians take off their masks when they were inside? This would prove to be a problem for them both if this were the case. Much to their relief, no one on the inside had taken off his or her mask. All the drinks were sipped through some sort of straw to accommodate the mask. Most of the Nestorians looked identical. Nalani wasn’t sure how any of them distinguished themselves from another. There were subtle variances among some of the masks. Some had special markings, probably to display accomplishments they may have made in their career, or perhaps to show at least a little style. She didn’t know.

The pub seemed hotter than the outside had been. The rank smell of sweat and dust, and ale permeated the pub. The humid air made it hard to breathe and she could feel sweat begin to trickle down her back.

“What exactly are we looking for?” she asked Alric.

“The drunkest person here,” he said.

As if on cue, a Nestorian caught both of their attention as he began swaying back and forth, singing at the top of his lungs. Occasionally he would yell out a profanity and then say something about the stinking Stühocs. This was their man.

Nalani and Alric glanced at each other and nodded. As they moved closer to the Nestorian’s booth, he started to quiet himself, squinting his eyes at the approaching couple.

“I’ve got no apology for any of you!” he said, slurring his words.

“Drunk in the middle of the day isn’t going to get us anywhere is it?” Alric said.

“Don’t wanna go anywhere,” the Nestorian retorted. “I just wanna drink.”

Alric motioned to the bartender to ask for a refill of the Nestorian’s drink. “That’s kind of you,” the Nestorian said, and when the drink came, he slurped through the straw until there wasn’t a drop left. Nalani felt that the Nestorian would be too drunk to be of any help, but then again, maybe this was exactly what he needed. More alcohol.

“What’s you’re name, friend?” Alric asked him.

“Grif!” he proclaimed. “That’s what they call me.”

“Well Grif, why aren’t you out helping with the building at the city’s center?”

“What building?”

They both sat in silence. It was a building wasn’t it? Grif sat thinking for a moment, then an eyebrow cocked. “You mean the Pyramid? The building that holds the Sphere?”

Nalani’s eyebrows furrowed, although the mask concealed it. The Sphere?

Alric hesitated a moment, but nodded. “Yes. Why aren’t you working with it?”

“Not my department,” Grif said. “I deal with foreign relations. It’s a fancy term for accommodating the Stühocs when they come for their visits.” He ended the sentence with a snarl, almost as though he was ready to vomit.

“Not happy with the alliance?” Alric asked.

Grif’s eyes narrowed behind the mask, studying Alric then pointed a thumb at Nalani. “Does he talk?”

“Nope,” Alric said. “Mute. Hasn’t spoken since he was eleven. Handy worker though.”

Grif nodded, but kept his eyes on Nalani, obviously suspicious. “I don’t talk about Stühocs and Nestorian business with people I don’t know. An easy way to get me in trouble.”

“I understand that,” Alric said, motioning for another drink. Grif accepted it graciously.

They listened to Grif talk about nothing in particular for the next couple of minutes while he finished his drink. Nalani felt they were wasting their time. Alric eventually came back to the important questions. She gave him a warning stare, letting him know that he shouldn’t press too hard. The Nestorian may not remember the conversation tomorrow, but he could still cause the two of them a lot of trouble if this wasn’t done right.

“How often do the Stühocs come in to Voelif?” Alric dared to ask.

“Too often,” Grif answered. “I just found out there’s a big group coming in the next few days to inspect the production. This might be the big one too. I hear Anithistor himself might even show up.”

Anithistor! Nalani had to fight to contain herself. This could not be good. If he was overseeing production of this Sphere, then that meant it was something extremely significant. Was it a weapon? How could it benefit the Stühocs? This made getting the medallion that much more important. If the Stühocs and Nestorians were developing something powerful, then the Humans wouldn’t stand a chance without having all the medallions. They needed all six medallions in order to defeat the Nestorians and Stühocs for good.

She nudged Alric in the ribs and motioned her head behind them. He nodded and told Grif they would be right back. He was too drunk to care.

“What is it?” Alric asked when they were out of earshot.

“This is huge,” Nalani said. “We need to find out what the Sphere is. I guarantee whoever is overseeing it will have the medallion. If Anithistor is coming in, that means we’re running out of time. Let’s get to the bottom of this quickly.”

“I’m doing what I can,” he said. “I’m about to throw this mask against the wall, it’s so stinking hot in here.”

Nalani suppressed a laugh and they made their way back to the table. Alric got straight to the point.

“I’m starting a taskforce,” he said. This got no reaction from Grif. Alric swallowed and continued. “I don’t think the Stühocs should be here. I don’t think you want them here either.”

Grif looked up, now alert. “You’re not the secret police or anything are you?”

“If we were the police, we wouldn’t tell you would we?”

Grif stared blankly for a moment then burst out in laughter. After a moment he asked, “What is this taskforce of yours?”

“Anti-Stühoc taskforce,” Alric said. “And we need your help, Grif. We don’t think the Nestorian people should allow ourselves to be weakened by relying on the Stühocs. The Stühocs want nothing more than to take over. They’re just using us.”

“Some would argue that having them has helped us grow.”

“Yes, but have you seen the number of slaves they’ve brought out here?” Alric said. “They far outnumber us. If they ever got the inclination, they could overrun us. We need to focus on what we want to accomplish. Not what the Stühocs want.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Grif said. “Talk like this isn’t usually tolerated, you know. You could get yourself killed.”

“That’s why I came to you,” Alric said. “I know your allegiance. I’ve been studying you for months now. You’re the one to help us.”

Nalani couldn’t help be amazed at Alric’s genius. He almost had her believing him. His ability as a con artist shone through in that moment and she would not forget this. The Dunarian Council could use an asset like Alric.

Grif considered Alric’s words carefully. Then he nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “I am the right man for the job. I just don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to stop what’s happening.”

“Leverage,” Alric said. “You need leverage.”

“What do I have that they would want?”

“You don’t now,” Alric answered. “But if you point me in the right direction I can help you get it.”

“What’s that?”

“Who carries the orange medallion?” Alric asked.





*****

When Coffman awoke, he felt like someone had dropped a boulder on his head. Everything had happened so quickly. He remembered Nalani attacking him and then a group of guards had knocked him out. The room where he sat was dark, soundless and bare. The pounding in his head was unnerving, and it was everything he could do to keep his stomach from heaving out everything he had eaten that day. He let out a sigh, knowing that this had been the only way to proceed with their mission. He hoped Nalani and Alric would find out something about the medallion. He wasn’t sure what he could do from this end. The slaves had far outnumbered the predicted amount, which might be good for keeping a low profile, but bad for obtaining information. With such a large group of people it would be difficult to find anyone with useful information. He sat up and leaned his large frame against the wall opposite the door and rubbed the side of his head. He hadn’t been stuck in a jail cell since his life on Earth. He had no desire to be in one back then and certainly no desire to be in one now.

He was jerked from his thoughts when he heard a rattling of keys at the door. He jumped to his feet as the door swung open, causing his head to swim in pain. At the door stood two Nestorian guards with their sticks ready to subdue the giant man should he decide to fight again.

“You’re going to come with us,” one of the masked guards said. “Don’t make any kind of sudden movement.”

Coffman didn’t doubt his ability to take on two measly little guards with sticks. Back in the city, earlier today, he had been subdued because Nalani had caught him by surprise, and then four guards were on top of him. But fighting now would not help him get information about the medallion, nor would it help him get out of the city when it was time to leave. He put his hands in the air and walked toward the door. One guard stepped behind him while the other led the way past a long line of cells and through another corridor. In a few moments they stood in a room with several more guards and one Nestorian man sitting at a table. The room was filled with books and what looked to be important papers. The man at the table looked up at Coffman. Maybe he grinned, maybe he scowled, Coffman couldn’t tell with the mask.

“Name please,” the man said.

“Coffman,” he answered willingly.

“And where were you captured, Coffman?”

“Why don’t you ask my captors?” This answer landed him with a swift punch in the gut, causing all his breath to be knocked out of him. He suspected the guard’s hand hurt worse than his stomach, however.

“Where were you captured?” the man repeated.

Coffman stood himself upright and straightened his shirt. “In the desert somewhere. I don’t know.”

“What were you doing so close to Voelif?”

“Tracking scowlers,” Coffman lied.

The man sat for a moment as if to weigh Coffman’s answers. “You can find more scowlers to the south, you know. Foolish of you to look near here for those foul creatures. They don’t taste very good either.”

“I’m in it for the pelts.”

“I see,” the man said. The man had written Coffman’s name in his little book and probably a short description of him as well. He sat looking at no spot in particular, probably deciding what to do with him. Coffman saw the list of names in the book on the table. It was a list arranged in chronological order by when each prisoner arrived. There was a date and a description for each person and the book was obviously filled. In fact, as Coffman glanced at the shelves in the room, he saw a hundred more just like it. Thousands of slaves had been brought here. He remembered what the others had said about the slave fields in Mudavé, and how wretched and abused the captured people seemed. The Nestorians must have bought their slaves from the Stühocs. Either way, they were never released. Once a man or a woman was caught and used, there was no hope of freedom. That is, unless they managed to escape, which was Coffman’s plan, of course.

“I think you’ll do well in helping us finish the production of the Pyramid around the Sphere. There’s a lot of heavy lifting to be done.” The man wrote some things next to Coffman’s name and then turned the book around so Coffman could see it.

“Sign your name,” the man instructed.

Coffman bent down and grabbed the pen held out for him. He quickly glanced at the other names on the list, people that had been processed before him as recently as the day before. One name in particular caught his attention. In bold letters was written a name than Coffman had heard many times. Daewyn Florelle. It was an Erellen name and the surname Florelle was one of power and recognition in Marenon. Jiaros Florelle was the king over the Erellens. Daewyn was his son. Next to Daewyn’s name was not the man’s Erellen signature as would have been expected of him. Coffman wasn’t surprised to know that the Nestorian didn’t catch what the Erellen had written beside his own name. They were two Erellen words that Coffman was able to translate roughly. The words were pronounced, Motemiam Seloriam. Find me. Help me.