Free The Tree of Life (Lost Civilizations: 3) by Vaughn Heppner Page A

dabbed on more rouge. Sometimes beguilement worked. It wasn’t her entire plan, no, just enough to gain their attention. Tarag. Giants. Gibborim. Sliths. Sabertooths. Maybe even fiends and Gog-fearing Nebo. And Lord Uriah hoped to pit their few against them. It was insanity.
    “Yes,” she told the image in the polished bronze, “but it is oh, so brave and unyielding.” Just as Joash had been brave and unyielding. She pushed the thought aside lest she wept and spoiled her appearance. She forced a smile, adjusted a lock of her dark hair, picked up her lyre and hurried outside.
    Gens waited and he whistled. “You’re beautiful.”
    She touched his cheek. He wore rough garments, a sword and some daggers. “Are you ready?” she asked.
    Gens gave a faint nod.
    They left the Siga, picking up their usual contingent of spies: three long haired ruffians, with knives strapped to their leather-wrapped forearms. Behind the ruffians, Adah picked out a small fat man with pink cheeks. The small fat man was discreet, but she’d played hide and seek with the Gibborim in the swamps of Poseidonis. She knew the fervent glance, the secret smile and the sly step. The man knocked a pathetic beggar-girl out of his way. He was cruel. He would be lethal. He also fondled a leather purse, and kept a surreptitious watch on the ruffians.
    Adah was sure he was an assassin. For assassins were like that: rabbit-like until they killed you by nefarious means.
    After two turns, Gens and she were on the broad merchant street. It bustled with people, and exploded with smells, sounds and commotion. Mules carts loaded with melons creaked by. A chariot with a city messenger on it tried to clatter past. Children screamed with glee.
    Adah felt fingers pluck at her garments.
    Gens rapped the thief’s knuckles.
    One of the trailing long haired ruffians laughed, as the thief put his hand into his mouth and hurried away.
    They passed somber, yellow-robed game players, with their expensive marble boards and carefully carved pieces. Jugglers, clowns and acrobats abounded in the crowds, as did pickpockets who preyed on the unwary. Mercenaries, sailors, orators, harlots, farmers, merchants, fishmongers, slaves, sages, priests, drudges, draymen, one and all used the broad avenue.
    “How can the city lords possibly begrudge us a few warriors?” Gens asked.
    “The city teems with people,” Adah said. “Obviously, Gog has done his work. The rot has set in.”
    “I’ve always hated cities,” Gens grumbled. “There’s no room to race a chariot.”
    “Just as Gog strikes at the rulers first, so I’ll do likewise.”
    “The crowds press against your soul,” Gens muttered. “They choke my spirit.”
    “I’ll dare the spies to stop me,” Adah said.
    Gens blinked, as if hearing her words for the first time. He tugged his mustache. “They won’t dare stop you.” He touched his sword hilt.
    “You would try to stop all four of them?” she asked.
    “Four city filth,” Gens said.
    “You and Herrek are always so brave,” she said.
    “I’m better than this rabble, no doubt there,” Gens said. “But few from Elon were like Herrek.”
    “More from Elon are like him than you realize,” she said.
    Gens’s chest expanded. “You’re gracious, Singer, but let us deal in truths.”
    They turned onto a smaller street, turned again, and then again. The stone buildings here bulked shoulder to shoulder, and Adah and Gens walked in deep shadows. The smells were stronger and garbage littered the street. Cats, dogs and filthy urchins prowled everywhere. A salty tang blew away some of the stench when they left the squalid tenements. The docks were near, and beside the docks were many rough taverns. Sailors, dockworkers, and merchants abounded, and a lower class of whore.
    “You don’t belong here,” Gens said.
    “That’s part of the allure, don’t you see?”
    Gens muttered something unintelligible.
    The Dolphin was a red brick tavern where brawny men