With a Stroke of Her Sword: The Kotidor Chronicles, #4

By JW Warner

Despite years of training and living together, Ashari's fellow novices never knew much about her childhood, other than it left her angry.

Now, in the fourth novel of The Kotidor Chronicles, With A Stroke of Her Sword, readers will finally learn the harrowing truth about Ashari's girlhood--kidnapped, forced to work in a silver mine, and driven to robbery to try to escape her captor.
 
Like her friends, Ashari begins training to become a warrior. Unlike them, if she fails, she might wind up in prison. Ultimately, she earns her sword and goes forth to enforce the laws of the Empire. When her duty returns her to her hometown, will Ashari find the birth family she never knew?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781393020714

JW Warner

JW Warner graduated from Rutgers College with a degree in English. After a long career as a federal investigator, and overcoming cancer, he traded in writing reports and training materials for fantasy novels. He lives in New Jersey near New York City with his wife and three dogs. death walks beside her, the first installment in his upcoming ya fantasy quadrilogy, The Kotidor Chronicles, will be released in march 2021. he can be found on twitter @jackwarner16, & on instagram @ru77jw

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The war between the Kingdom of Kidal and the Minyeros cannot be said to have raged for over 120 years. Instead, the conflict ebbed and flowed like ocean tides. During one peaceful period, His Majesty, the King of Kidal, dispatched emissaries to establish a House of Commerce in the great Duogrour port city of Yama’al to assist and support Kidalese people and vessels trading in the Far East of the Empire. One aspect of that support would include protecting the right of Kidalese citizens to enslave people. Sometimes, Imperial officials tried to liberate enslaved people traveling on Kidal’s merchant ships. However, preventing or correcting such misguided actions required delicacy and negotiation rather than violence.

The party of diplomats and merchants arrived in the provincial capital to petition Tovoloth, the Lord of Duogrour. They knew his Lordship was a boy, approximately seven or eight years old. Real power rested with the lad’s mother, the Lady Kamikael, who acted as her son’s regent.

Four soldiers of the Imperial army escorted the lead diplomat and one of the principal merchants into the audience chamber. Both Kidalese representatives considered themselves well-traveled, sophisticated men, but the capital palace impressed them. Walking down the main hallway, those petitioning Lord Tovoloth passed through a series of archways, each designed to suggest one of the pictograms of the ancient, pre-Imperial Duogrour alphabet. Each archway was constructed using a different exotic wood from the mainland jungles of the province. The archways had been positioned so that the wood used started dark and became lighter as visitors approached the main hall as if the Lord’s very presence made the building brighter.

The soldiers escorting them discretely moved to places scattered around the chamber as they entered. Lord Tovoloth and his mother also enjoyed the protection of a Kotidor, one of the Lawkeepers charged with keeping order on the empire’s frontier. Her appearance surprised the visitors. She wore the traditional Kotidor uniform—a red tunic bearing the symbol of her order, the long Lawgiver sword, and a combat knife, a curved weapon notably longer than most knives. Her attire and arms appeared no different from any other Kotidor. However, while most of the Lawkeepers came from Nisab, the vast province north of Duogrour, the blood of the Southern Kingdoms seemed to flow in this warrior’s veins.

The Southern Kingdoms lay to the south and southwest of Kidal. Over the centuries, the Southern Kingdoms rose and fell, but their people looked the same no matter who ruled them at any point in time. This Kotidor woman’s skin looked darker than typical Nisabans’—her beautiful features were a mixture of Duogrouri and Southern Kingdom—a combination the delegates knew well. More significantly, rather than the straight, silky hair so often seen throughout the Far East, this Lawkeeper’s hair, curly and thick, framed her head and drew attention to her face.

This is my chamberlain, the Lady Kamikael told her visitors, The Lady Ashari of the Kotidor.

Ashari means ‘warrior’ in your language, does it not, my Lord? the merchant asked, addressing the child even though his mother would respond.

It does, Tovoloth’s mother replied. And it is a most fitting name for her.

CHAPTER ONE: A FATHER FROM FAR AWAY

Although Jomo lived as a seafaring man, he was born in Tinma’at, an inland town situated astride a large oasis. Goods came in from the port cities of Socelin and Neda’at. The merchants of the oasis city sent forth those goods by land caravans north into the Kingdom of Kidal or through the desert to the ports of the Minyeros Empire. This is the story of her birth father, although the Kotidor Lady Ashari would not learn it for many years.

Tinma’at’s fame reflected its place as the main conduit for goswaz, heavy ceramic jars or pots used to carry grain, hard cheese, beer, and even soup or stew. Goswaz came in a variety of sizes and two basic types. First, a pointed form, carried in a net or fabric sling, often hung on mules or camels. The second type ended in a flat bottom, more amenable for storing food in a home or holding a sailing vessel.

Several shops in Tinma’at finished goswaz. Jomo’s relatives added bright blue stripes to the basic pots as if the clay was fired with lapis or other precious stones in the mix. There were skilled artists in Tinma’at who painted vivid pictures of people and animals on the jars. The more ornately goswaz were decorated, the costlier they became.

The people living in the vast Minyeros Empire believed their country encompassed almost the whole world. Yet, although the Empire stretched far to the north and east from Kidal, a great deal of land—and countless people—did not live under either country’s ruler.

Below the great civilization of Kidal lay the Southern Kingdoms. They interacted with the world north of them through trade. Importing and exporting provided the livelihoods of many people in The Southern Kingdoms. Farther inland, away from the coasts, more people followed traditional ways of life: farming or herding. However, legends suggested beyond the lands of farmers, and miners lived fierce hunters hidden in deep forests, dangerous to anyone daring to travel into their lands.

As a boy, Jomo accompanied his father on a caravan to Socelin. Instead of watching the dockhands unloading ships, dividing the wares into loads atop camels, Jomo ran to the city watchtower to better see the harbor. He ignored the sights and sounds of the bustling city—displays of goods coming or going; camels, donkeys, and horses carrying colorful loads; merchants haggling in half a dozen different languages. Instead, Jomo ran by them all, never taking his eyes off the tall column of bricks at the port’s center.

All the different ships gliding into and out of the docks caught his attention, but then he saw the sea beyond. To Jomo, a child of the desert, the water seemed like a precious jewel—often small, usually rare. How could so much water exist? He asked a man who looked to Jomo like a sailor how far the ocean extended. The man laughed.

Far to the East lies a port called Yama’al, the sailor said. From Socelin to there—if the crew is skilled and the weather is good? Seventy days, my boy. Seventy days crossing the seas. Jomo refused to believe such a thing. Seventy days on the water? Being able to drink whenever he wanted, as much as he wanted? What an easy life!

As soon as the boy returned home, Jomo made clear to his father how much he wanted to spend his life as a sailor. The response came quickly, delivered with a hint of exasperation. For one thing, his father informed the lad that people could not drink ocean water tainted with salt. For another, discipline on sailing ships could be brutal. Officers frequently beat sailors for mistakes. In addition, the Kidalese enslaved people—and such slaves provided many among the crews of their ships. While the Andahr—as Jomo’s people called themselves – did not make slaves of other nations, that did not stop Andahran captains from treating their sailors no better than the poor enslaved souls on Kidal’s ships. Better to stay home, perhaps as an apprenticed artisan in the goswaz shops?

These facts did nothing to dissuade Jomo. Soon after his twelfth birthday, he convinced his parents he hoped to become an apprentice to caravan merchants, traveling on a camel rather than a boat, without living out his days in Tinma’at.

However, as soon as Jomo reached Socelin, he deserted the merchant who employed him and presented himself to a ship’s captain headed to the Minyeros Province called Dhuzo, one of several Imperial territories that lay along the southern coast of the great Empire. The vessel would offload olive oil, nuts, and dates, then bring back different goods in trade.

Jomo’s first duties remained limited because of his size and youth. Nevertheless, he served the captain and the pilot meals in their quarters; brought tea, beer, or drinking water to the sailors as they went about their tasks; and performed any work where his smaller, thinner arm or hands worked to his advantage. Fortunately, his first captain proved kind, almost fatherly. Aside from slapping the boy for working too slowly on deck once or twice, the officer, Shay’yen, refrained from beating Jomo.

He respected Shay’yen, but Jomo found himself much more interested in the Pilot. Grave dangers lurked everywhere on the seas. It was said that there are few old sailors throughout the maritime world. Besides terrible, unexpected storms, legends spoke of rogue waves as high as great buildings, which appeared out of nowhere, even on balmy days, to capsize or smash boats.

They said you could expect the gods to grant you about fifteen years on the ocean. Once past that point, you had an increased chance of dying with every passing day. Many—perhaps most—sailors died at sea, and their bodies never recovered.

A Pilot’s primary duty was to increase the odds of survival. When a boat sailed out from the land or came into the harbor, the Pilot commanded the crew. In fact, the Pilot could order his captain about, just like any common sailor. A Pilot needed to know the proper course to steer into the various ports, but more importantly, where the coves, inlets, or headwaters of rivers provided a place to escape the wrath of storms or the inroads of pirates. When the ship was far enough offshore that even a lookout on the mast could not see land, the Pilot helped the captain navigate the high seas. Jomo believed pilots must be the most intelligent people in the world and their jobs the most exciting work anyone could choose.

Pilots also made quite a bit of money. A ship’s revenue was divided into shares. Ordinarily, the family who owned the vessel and financed the voyages took three or four shares. Among the crew, only the captain and pilot earned a full share. The remaining shares were divided into smaller portions among the crew. A helmsman or ship’s carpenter might receive a half share, or a six-tenths share, common sailors less (often a quarter—or one-third cut per man), and boys like Jomo perhaps a one-ninth or one-tenth stake. Depending on the size of the ship and other factors, the profits of a voyage might be divided into eighteen to twenty-five shares, with the owners and officers sometimes claiming up to thirty percent of the total. Hauling certain cargo, even a simple sailor could quickly accumulate a good income.

One night, when Jomo brought the evening meal to the captain, pilot, and the helmsman at the rudder, he asked how someone could become a Pilot.

Go away, his ship’s navigator replied. You bother me. The next evening, Jomo inquired again, only to be brushed off once more. Nevertheless, he persisted until, after several days, their captain ordered his Pilot, By the gods! Just answer the lad!

He sighed, exhaling loudly, then the Pilot told Jomo, "It’s a matter of ‘vision,’ my boy. Consider: an artist comes upon a large stone yet somehow sees a statue of a goddess or the king within it. A craftsman looks at the blade or handle of a sword and notices a place to inscribe a lion or a shark on the bare surface. To be a proper pilot, a man must have a vision and know how the land lies and how the tides come in and go out.

"Let us suppose a storm seems to be coming. First, a pilot must know where his ship can find a safe harbor. Is it better to turn back or steer onward? Then, once they reach safety, how must the ship enter? Are there rocks just beneath the surface? Is there a place where the sand has accumulated so high that your keel will become stuck? All this you must learn if you would be a pilot. And here’s the sad part—pilots don’t want to train replacements. So if you wanted to become a pilot, you would have to watch carefully until you can anticipate where that next cove lies because no pilot will likely care to instruct you. That is how I did it. Nobody helped me!

Take my advice, lad. You’ve got a better chance to learn to be a helmsman, or a ship captain, than trying to learn piloting. There, I told you. Ask me no more! Jomo knew he could never be a captain despite what the Pilot said. To obtain a command, one needed connections—to important families, ship owners, and some sort of fellowship that might direct him to a captain willing to take an aspiring officer onto his vessel. Among those privy to such knowledge, some said that men who hoped to be captains needed to share their mentor’s bed and allow the senior captain to have his way with a boy. Not all of them, to be sure, but if you found yourself in that position, Jomo heard, your only choice was submission, regardless of whether you preferred to lie in the arms of men or women.

Each night before going to sleep, no matter how tired or sore, Jomo recited to himself what he had observed that day. He noted the lay of the land, any place they put into shore, and any shoals or rocks to be evaded. Whenever he performed repetitious or routine work—like emptying buckets of waste overboard—Jomo would try to recite three days (or more if he could) landmarks behind them.

When they reached the destination of Jomo’s first voyage, he watched closely to see how they sailed into the harbor before continuing into a designated place along the city’s docks. He heard that in the most important ports, like the Nisaban Capital or Yama’al in Duogrour Province, the Harbormaster sent a pilot to navigate entry and docking because of the sheer number of vessels incessantly coming or going. Some pilots, tired of risking their lives on the ocean, took on jobs as harbor pilots, trading less pay to obtain greater safety.

Jomo was not allowed to leave the boat while docked. The other sailors in the crew did, for drinking and womanizing. One crew member was savagely beaten during a fight in a local tavern. Another sailor died of knife wounds in a brothel. Apparently, the sailor insisted the woman he fancied abandon another fellow to lie with him as soon as he arrived. The captain found replacements among men looking for work.

Pirates attacked Jomo’s ship six days from the port, carrying a load of goods for the return voyage. The seagoing robbers rowed out from hiding when the vessel slowly embarked from an inlet, where they stopped to take on fresh water. His fellow crew members handed Jomo a short, curved sword. He had never been taught how to use such a weapon. Fortunately, the boarding party found themselves outnumbered by the ship’s crew. After a bloody battle—which Jomo did not participate in—the pirates retreated.

Five men aboard the trading vessel died immediately or soon after from their wounds. One of the dead was the ship’s Pilot. Besides the dead, two additional sailors on Jomo’s ship suffered severe wounds, which left them incapable of doing their duties. The captain summoned the crew for a meeting as soon as they reached open water, where they could spot pirates heading for them.  Even as he spoke, several of the crew—including young Jomo—kept looking about for any sign the pirates still pursued them.

We will need to divert into the next port, their leader announced. To replace our dead and perhaps turn over anyone badly hurt to a healer or physician. I hope we will be able to find a pilot.

Cap’n, sir, what will be the next port? one sailor called out.

Dayerom. Two days southwest of us, Jomo blurted. Then, realizing how rude he was, he bowed and muttered, I am sorry, Captain. Luckily, their commander simply chuckled.

It seems our cabin lad was paying better attention than you, sailor. Later that evening, when Jomo carried food to the man holding the rudder, the sailor the captain had teased earlier slammed his elbow into the boy’s back, sending him tumbling and the plate over the side. If he were a grown man, Jomo would be expected to retaliate. But, since he was a boy, the rest of the crew ignored what had happened. So, he did as well, picking up what he dropped and apologizing to the man who elbowed Jomo.

That night, as the ship lay anchored, the wind came up. To the experienced sailors, it sounded like a storm might be brewing. Their boat began heaving up and down in increasingly high waves. Rain pelted the men on deck.

We need to find safe harbor, the helm yelled to the captain.

We cannot sail blindly in the dark, Shay’yen hollered back.

Captain, sir, we are not far from an inlet, Jomo called above the storm’s noise. He flinched, expecting to be struck.

Where, boy?

Tack left, but keep the shore close by, Jomo shouted to the helmsman. As soon as you spot a low hill which looks like a woman’s elbow, hard to starboard and straight on.

Shay’yen grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt, yanking Jomo close to him. If we founder, you will die before getting off this boat—I promise you! Then, reluctantly, the helm steered the ship as directed by Jomo. The crew struggled to keep the sail in position to power them forward.

Almost as soon as they passed the low hill, their ship escaped the worst wind and water. Jomo could not be sure how deep beneath the keel the bottom lurked. He urged the helmsman to drop anchor before they sailed far into the inlet. Then, although buffeted by intermittent wind gusts, they escaped the full fury of the rampaging sea.

The storm damaged some lines and tore the sail in two places, but the vessel remained afloat. With the dawn, the crew could see the sandy bottom, lying less than the height of two men below them. They could confidently drop anchor in that spot, so the other sailors decided the boy guided them to safety as well as any experienced navigator might have done. They clapped him on the shoulder and cheered his instincts—even the man who elbowed Jomo.

When they docked in Dayerom and hired a new pilot, Captain Shay’yen demanded he take on Jomo as an apprentice.

Wouldn’t you rather be navigating camels in caravans? the replacement Pilot asked. His words came from the man’s prejudices about the residents of The Southern Kingdoms, but Jomo did not recognize it.

No, sir, Jomo respectfully replied. No, I want to be a pilot.

Once they returned to the Southern Kingdoms, Shay’yen would not pay Jomo his share. Instead, he gave what the lad earned to persuade a new pilot to ensure he accepted Jom, the boy, as an apprentice. After only ten days on land, Jomo again ventured forth with Shay’yen. He still had to bring food to the officers and perform some menial tasks, but Jomo spent much of his time learning how to navigate.  Jomo, the newly-named apprentice, directed their ship as it sailed away from Dayerom. The vessel stayed far enough from shore to avoid pirates by relying on the new pilot and his apprentice. They carried boxes of mirrors made of silver or polished copper, small reflective devices prized by the wealthy of every nation. Jomo and his shipmates would have been attacked had any pirates, even if the attackers did not know about their expensive cargo.

On this second trip, Shay’yen paid the boy his due share. Mirrors were so costly, and the crew’s share so large that Jomo could afford to send half his earnings to his family. They purchased a bigger house with the unexpected windfall, putting aside any anger about running away from home for a life on the sea.

BY THE TIME HE REACHED seventeen years of age, Jomo’s reputation as a pilot had allowed him to choose which boats he had signed on to direct. He paid close attention to gossip on the docks and in the taverns, thus avoiding sailing with incompetent or reckless captains. Jomo erred on the side of caution and preferred working with commanders with a similar philosophy. The ocean gods looked for any chance to claim a vessel. He saw no reason to invite such a fate by taking unnecessary chances. Time and again,  Jomo listened to tales of captains who caused their ship’s destruction, insisting on carrying out foolish choices long after their decision was obviously wrong.

Early in his sailing career, Jomo piloted shorter voyages. Although word spread among the ship owners about the bright young man, he was not hired for the most extended trips. However, a more experienced navigator fell ill shortly after Jomo turned seventeen. The captain decided not to delay their journey until the elder pilot recovered. This gave Jomo his first opportunity to travel to Yama’al, the great Far Eastern port of Duogrour—a voyage that lasted sixty-eight days, slightly less than the average passage.

Before they entered the bay waters around Yama’al, a harbor pilot came out to them, primarily to assist any navigator arriving for the first time aboard an outrigger canoe with a pontoon on one side of the main vessel. The older man carried with him a marvelous thing he called a chart, crafted of woven sticks and string, adorned with seashells. These white shells are rocks or shoals, the harbor pilot showed Jomo. These of other colors mark spots where the water runs deep, and currents can cause an unsuspecting helm difficulty. Here, you see if you can follow it, my boy. Holding the broad, flexible chart and comparing it to what he saw in the water itself, Jomo immediately recognized that such charts diminished navigators’ value—and thus, perhaps, their pay—. But on the other hand, a chart could make it possible for a decent pilot to sail into any port confidently. So when they docked and the harbor pilot left their ship, Jomo considered himself fortunate the man took his chart with him.

Yama’al was often called the Crossroads of the Far East. North and east of the town lay the long coastline of the province of Nisab, the eastern end of the Minyeros Empire. Approximately one-sixth of the total land of the empire lay in the vast frontier territory. Nisab produced stone, timber, gold, furs, fish, and other goods, which the citizens of the sparsely-populated province traded for tea, rice, cotton goods, and steel. Mountains, deserts, and vast windswept plains caused caravans to finish their journey well to the north of Yama’al, ensuring its importance, moving the riches of Duogrour province to the north or back toward Jomo’s home. Precious time would be lost getting trade goods up to the caravans.

Once his ship was securely berthed along the city docks, the young pilot took in the beauty of the town. Yama’al had been built into the hills, which quickly ascended from the bay. The buildings were whitewashed annually, so the whole town looked dazzling in the sunlight. Much like Jomo’s home village, the roofs appeared to be fashioned from tiles, forming a random pattern of greens, reds, oranges, and blues. Among the citizens of Yama’al, multi-colored clothing was fashionable. Everywhere Jomo glanced, his eyes met striking combinations. He learned anyone clad in a single-color dress might as well carry a sign that read, stranger. His first purchase in the city market was a bright yellow vest. He took off his plain white shirt—that desperately needed washing—replacing it with his new vest, which drew others’ eyes to Jomo’s strong arms, his taut flesh darkened by long days working shirtless sailing Southern seas.

His captain requested Jomo accompany him to one of the merchant houses adjacent to the city piers. They would take gold and tea to Dayerom on the first leg of their voyage home. The captain expressed concern about storing the tea since this would be his first voyage transporting such cargo. Moreover, if a storm drove water into the hold, he did not want the tea ruined. Jomo would witness any discussion. Here in the Far East, the emperor employed Lawkeepers—Kotidor—to whom the captain could go for any redress in a dispute with the merchant or accuse them of fraud.

Won’t these Kot-eh-dor just side with the local citizens? Jomo asked. His captain looked at him with amusement.

You’ve never seen Kotidor, have you, lad?

No, Captain, he replied.

If you do, you will note they are a fearsome lot. They don’t need to ‘side’ with anyone.

Although just one of several in that part of Yama’al, the warehouse building looked enormous to Jomo—much larger than the same buildings in other port towns. When entering, a person might conclude boxes, jars, rugs, and other goods had been randomly tossed anywhere. Every item had been organized according to when it was coming in or going out, but not everyone could see that pattern. A dozen men, each armed with a short, curved sword like those used by sailors, moved about the building carrying wares. In the center of the vast open space stood a heavy table. Behind the table stood a Duogrour woman: petite, small-boned, her black hair gathered into a single long plait that vanished down her back. She appeared younger than her actual age—she was, in fact, almost two years older than Jomo, he would discover.

There was nothing delicate about her posture or demeanor despite her diminutive stature. She oversaw the operation and spoke to the workers with the assurance of a leader who expected obedience. His captain leaned close to Jomo, That is At’tina. Her family owns big warehouses here and in Southport, the Nisaban town at the eastern end of the caravan route.

She is so beautiful, Jomo replied, keeping his voice low.

Enough of that. I doubt she is interested in sailors—and we’re here to ensure our tea will survive the sea.

They approached At’tina, who regarded them with the same look she might give an insect crawling up her arm. As soon as the captain explained his concerns, Jomo blurted out, To me, you are a lovely girl, speaking in Minyeros, the common language of the empire.

Their eyes met. "Ordinarily, I would think you just spouted some insincere flattery, sir. But you have a kind and open face, so I thank you for your compliment. Now, then, let me show you. We store dried tea leaves in janwar, the same large ceramic jars usually used when transporting water or wine." She led her visitors farther back into the warehouse until they came to two rows of heavy jars, nearly as tall as At’tina herself, lined up like soldiers. As she informed them, these were precisely the sort of earthenware containers found on most imperial merchant vessels.

"Unlike liquid contents, since these janwar are full of tea leaves, you could—if you so desire—lay these down in your hold and cover them to prevent them rolling about in rough seas without worrying about leaking. Not that I would try to tell you, seamen, how best to load your vessel, she said, although both men knew her intention precisely. I will tell you they are notably lighter than any jar full of wine or honey." The captain bowed. Jomo followed his lead. As he bent from the waist, he peeked up at At’tina. She smiled at him—the only time during their visit she did so.

As they made their way back to the ship, Jomo told his captain, I like her. She seems as bold as she is pretty.

The captain looked at his pilot as if the young man had lost his mind, There are brothels here in Yama’al where you can have any lovely girl who strikes your fancy.

She is the kind of woman you wed, Jomo declared. A woman to bear your children.

CHAPTER TWO: