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Back Master of Poisons
Chapters (102)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. DRAMATIS PERSONAE
  6. BOOKI
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. BOOKII
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. 6
  36. 7
  37. 8
  38. 9
  39. 10
  40. 11
  41. 12
  42. 13
  43. 14
  44. 15
  45. 16
  46. 17
  47. 18
  48. 19
  49. BOOKIII
  50. 1
  51. 2
  52. 3
  53. 4
  54. 5
  55. 6
  56. 7
  57. 8
  58. 9
  59. 10
  60. 11
  61. 12
  62. 13
  63. 14
  64. 15
  65. 16
  66. 17
  67. BOOKIV
  68. 1
  69. 2
  70. 3
  71. 4
  72. 5
  73. 6
  74. 7
  75. 8
  76. 9
  77. 10
  78. 11
  79. BOOKV
  80. 1
  81. 2
  82. 3
  83. 4
  84. 5
  85. 6
  86. 7
  87. 8
  88. 9
  89. 10
  90. 11
  91. 12
  92. 13
  93. 14
  94. 15
  95. 16
  96. 17
  97. 18
  98. Glossary
  99. Acknowledgments
  100. Also by Andrea Hairston
  101. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  102. Newsletter Sign-up

“What remains in the Arkhysian Empire for me?” The truth was the best illusion. Pezarrat clutched the gold. Greed warred with reason on his face and greed won. Djola would feel no remorse when Pezarrat died. “If it’s a trick, you can set your guards on me.” The guards trembled. Djola leaned close to Pezarrat. “Or we can get rich enough to retire to the floating cities. I’ve mapped Jena City’s wealth.”

“You speak truth.” Pezarrat prided himself on reading men’s hearts. “Our last raid.”

2

Trickster

Dawn. The sea was gray glass. Thick fog tasted sour in Djola’s mouth as he and Pezarrat’s guards headed out in six large supply canoes. Muscular rogues with pirate pants cinched at the ankles, they all looked like Pezarrat: tight knots of hair, beady dark eyes, a greedy sneer on full lips. Men like this dragged Samina to a transgressor hut and abandoned his children to the desert without blinking. Men like this could sell Vandana and chop Orca’s head with a chuckle and a fart. They deserved a poison-desert death.

The canoe slid onto a golden beach as fog burned off. Djola and the pirates strode along a boardwalk into Jena City. Nobody patrolled the sea entrance to the city, not even a dog—lazy arrogance. A cluster of mud-brick buildings was surrounded by warrior-statues carved from black lava rock. Flying beasts died on the warrior’s blades; naked women were curled at their feet. Deserted merchant stalls swayed in the sea breeze. A stone well inlaid with crystals dominated the market square.

“Water is life—the greatest treasure.” Djola touched cool wetness to his forehead.

Captives huddled in their own filth by the well. They waited for a dousing and sale. Women, men, and young ones were locked together, but not guarded. They observed Djola with dull eyes. Thief-lords did swift trade in human flesh. They deserved a poison death too. Railing at the crossroads gods for their indifference, Djola touched the captives’ chains.

In the midst of murky tomorrows, he glimpsed a free future: people stepping off a waterwheel boat in the floating cities, enchanted by garden barges and sky windows. Locks burst open in a flare of light. Crystals in the stone well swallowed void-dust. Djola barely had time to register this. The captives shrieked. Djola used a Lahesh blade to slice through shackles. “Run!” He pointed at the beach. “Today we’re free.”