Fork in the Road

Tindo's mission to Xanjipoor was over. Successful according to Sastra, but then it was her project. She was staying in the city to chart the continuing disruption to the powers that the Protectorate of the Kingdom of Partha deemed dangerous.

Tindo had spent the day wandering the city, still disguised as an old minstrel, listening to and watching the many different peoples go about there lives. He knew many languages but enjoyed hearing snatches of new ones as well as strange accents of those he knew.

Xanjipoor had been built only recently on the intersection of the great east-west trade route with the huge north running river Gyre. A trading guild built a bridge over the Gyre where it emptied into a huge inland lake. The tolls charged made them rich, and the city grew quickly, independent of any king or land, only concerned with the production of wealth for its ruling masters. Wealth became power, and the powerful always yearned for more.

Later that night, in the candle light of Sastra's room, Tindo began a letter to his King. Observing people was interesting to Tindo, who was always fascinated by people's motivations. Observing and then reporting to a third party was often called spying, but that bothered Tindo little and he had been glad to do it where it coincided with his own desires. But his new involvement with the Protectorate was too confining to his own goals.

Reflecting on the events of the past days made him feel too much the assassin, and killing wasn't part of his nature. The new king of Partha would understand his decision.

With a final flourish of his pen to sign his name to his resignation, he folded the paper and then sealed it in a tiny bone case.