Chapter 17

The legendary Ivory Sand Route carves its path along the outskirts of the ancient Njo rainforest like a yugular vein mainly because these traders feared the unmentionable evils of the forest. This ancient trading trail meanders between towering iroko and baobab trees strangled with climbing rubber vines and dripping with hanging gardens of orchids. The forest floor is a dense carpet of raffia palms and decomposing plantain leaves, muffling the footfalls of those brave enough to traverse its primordial depths.

The route earned its name from the pale ivory sand forming the path itself, carried from the great Saharan desert by the hooves of countless caravans over centuries past. This pale grit provides vital traction through the perpetual moisture and decay blanketing the undergrowth.

It is known that strange creatures dwell within the Njo forests - from vividly colored poison arrow jaguar frogs to long-necked shoebill storks stalking the marshes. The haunting calls of unseen snake monkeys echo through the canopy, adding to the primeval ambiance. Fortunately, the path is safeguarded by the ancestral spirits of past traders, their chanted Fantu blessings warding off the jungle's most fearsome denizens.

No journey along the Ivory Sand Route would be complete without stopping at the legendary Black Orchid Tavern. This ramshackle mud-brick and thatch structure seems to almost sprout from the very rainforest itself. For over 300 years, the Black Orchid has been slaking the thirst of exhausted travelers of all sorts - merchants with laden camels and caravans, hunters with leathery faces, wandering holy men draped in faded robes etc.

Inside, the air is thick with woodsmoke, the aroma of sizzling bush meat, locally-brewed palm wine, and the babble of a dozen languages. Tribal masks, faded colonial regalia and dusty trophies adorn the walls, accentuated by swirling clouds of tobacco smoke. Brikali merchants spinning fanciful tales, troupe of Naasai blade-dancers entertaining the crowd, spice traders dicing for shillings at candlelit tables - the Black Orchid is a vibrant crossroads where all paths of this ancient continent intersect.

At one table near the back, a trio of rough-looking men nursed their clay cups of millet beer. Their weapons and travel-stained clothes marked them as hunters or mercenaries for hire. One was bald and bore a wicked scar across his cheek, while another had filed his teeth to points in the style of the far-northern tribes.

"I tell you, that white lion we're after is no mere beast," the scarred one said in a low rumble. "They don't pay bounties like that for a simple kill." He took a long pull of his beer.

The tribesman with the filed teeth grunted. "Makes no difference to me, Mkunga. So long as the coin is good when we bring its head back."

The third man, a wiry little fellow with a bristling mustache, shook his head. "You didn't hear the rumors? They say it's an avatar of the spirit Ashanti herself, sent to guard the sacred forests."

In a dimly lit corner, the cloaked figures of Didé and Nakaba listened intently, their eyes locking meaningfully.

The scarred hunter, Mkunga, barked a harsh laugh. "What rot! I put no stock in such old wives' tales."

The tribesman with the filed teeth slammed his fist on his table, sloshing his palm wine. "Bleedin' white mane glowin' like the noonday sun. Olka and I tracked that ghost lion clear to the Mabao Cliffs before it vanished like smoke."

Zuri, a stewardess, guffawed loudly, "You been sippin' too much of that fermented locust juice again, you crazy dog! Everyone knows the great white lion is naught but a fairy tale to scare the village brats!"

The tribesman with the filed teeth growled, stretching across the table to jab a calloused finger into the passing Zuri's chest. "Keep flappin' that stepped-on bush viper tongue at me and I'll make you a mother of four with one poke."

Zuri rolled her eyes in disgust and slapped the tribesman's hand aside as another sultry voiced woman draped in jingling beads and tasseled silks slinked up to their table.

"Enough, you overgrown children," she chided with a dazzling smile. "Perhaps you rough diamonds could earn some coin instead of wasting it on magic lion tales?"

Mkunga squinted at the entrancing dancer. "Depending on what's required, serene one, we may be amenable to further...negotiations."

The woman's eyes glittered mischievously as she leaned down between them, the heady scent of jasmine and cloves surrounding the bounty hunters.

"I represent a concerned party seeking the safe return of a certain...indisposed personage. Rumors swirl that the young Ajarian princess has been abducted by bandits, her caravan seized in the perilous green hell of the Njo forest."

Nakaba felt Didé tense beside her at the mention of Ona's reference. She placed a calming hand on his arm as they continued eavesdropping.

The tribesman's eyes bulged as he sat back, slapping his knee. "The Tiger Princess herself, eh? Why those pampered royal moppets shouldn't be allowed out without a battalion of nursemaids to keep their cloudstuffed heads attached!"

The dancer's smile remained, though her tone grew colder. "The princess's safe deliverance is of vital importance. Her wealthy father demands her return, unharmed if possible, and has sanctioned considerable...compensation for those skilled enough to secure her freedom."

She traced a tasseled fingertip along Mkunga's bronzed arm. "I know a pride of capable leopards when I see one. Are you hunters...or are you mere lapdogs?"

The bounty hunters looked from the smoldering dancer to each other, minds already racing with visions of riches and glory awaiting them.

The following conversation between the mercenary trio and the dancer carried on in hushed but intense tones as Didé and Nakaba strained to catch every word.

"You're a fool if you discount the legend around the blue-eyed Witch Princess. No one looks into her eyes and remains the same," the wiry-mustached hunter hissed. "The white lion chase is a better cause."

The bald and scarred Mkunga slammed his fist on the table, making the clay cups rattle. "King Tobika of Ajari is wealthy. Saving his pup makes us the richest men along the Ivory Sand Route ."

The tribesman with filed teeth remained silent, eyes narrowing as he studied the two arguing men intensely.

The mustached one leaned across the table. "Then you're a bigger idiot than I thought. Haven't you heard the stories? The Ajarian princess was cursed at birth. It is said that she carries the spirit and destiny of Queen Nalini."

"The Witch Queen?"

"Yes, you idiot!"

"Unfortunacy!" The third man bellowed.

Mkunga guffawed aloud, "The biggest idiot would be the king of Ajari letting his daughter travel through the Njo forests just to marry the toothless crown prince of Idollo."

With fury burning in Didé's eyes and veins bulging on his forehead, he ground his teeth together so forcefully that the enamel seemed on the verge of shattering.

Mkunga continued. "Poor girl got kidnapped by masked bandits, they say. Just before she could get married. I'd say the gods saved her from that unfortunate ordeal."

A few beyond the trio's table laughed while some other cleared their throats, drank their beer and slammed their hands at their tables in jeers.

Didé's grip tightened on his sword hilt. If these uncultured brutes truly held such disdain for the royal family of Idollo, did that mean he was the liability in the bloodline? Could his perceived inadequacy potentially bring down an entire dynasty? He locked eyes with Nakaba, who subtly shook her head as if to reassure him she understood his concerns.

Nakaba leaned in close, her eyes blazing like wildfire. "Listen here, princeling," she growled in a low, gravelly tone far removed from her usual sensual demeanor. "I didn't pledge my blade to some sniveling whelp."

Didé opened his mouth to protest, but Nakaba silenced him with a calloused finger pressed against his lips. "You're the future of this realm, damn it. It's time you start acting like it."

Her words carried the weight of a battle-hardened warrior twice her age. Didé could only nod mutely, taken aback by her ferocity.

Nakaba's expression softened just a fraction. "You may doubt yourself, but I never have and never will. You're more man than those soulless brutes could ever hope to be." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the bounty hunters' table.

A faint smile played across Didé's lips as he grasped her forearm in the traditional warrior embrace.

"You have got a tongue sharper than any sword, my friend. Thank you."

Nakaba returned the smile, giving his arm a firm squeeze before rising fluidly to her feet. "Now stop wallowing and let's go teach those curs a lesson about respecting their betters."

They made their way across the dimly lit tavern floor, Didé's regal bearing returning with each step.

The dancer recognized Didé and cowered away.

Mkunga also recognized Didé but instead of showing the expected deference, the brute sneered contemptuously, his lips curling into a mocking sneer that conveyed his utter disdain for the crown prince's supposed royal birthright. "Well, if it isn't the pampered palace pup himself, come to drink with the commoners?"

Didé met the man's mocking gaze with an icy stare. "Mind your tongue, wretch. You discourse on matters you haven't the slightest inkling about."

Mkunga gave a barking laugh as he lurched drunkenly to his feet. "Awfully bold words for a prissy noble's get." He took a menacing step forward, fists clenched.

In a blur of motion, Didé's sword hilt slammed into the man's barrel chest with bone-crushing force. Mkunga toppled backward, the air exploding from his lungs in a pained wheeze as he crashed into the table.

The rowdy cacophony of the Black Orchid Tavern came to an abrupt halt as the other two mercenaries swaggered up behind Didé's unassuming figure. With a malicious gleam in their beady eyes, the brutes reached for the famed adventurer in unison.

But they'd barely laid their grubby hands upon Didé's shoulders before he reacted with blinding speed. Spinning low, the prince brought the basilisk-hide wrapped hilt of his falchion around in a vicious arc. The first merc's grunt of surprise was cut brutally short as the dense grip crushed against his temple with a sickening crunch. 

Moving with the inertia of his strike, Didé flowed seamlessly into the second attacker even as the first man crumpled bonelessly to the tavern floor. This time the hilt slammed squarely into the base of the merc's throat with incredible force. His eyes bulged hideously as all air was violently expelled from his lungs. He achieved just a wheezy gasp before collapsing in a quivering heap beside his companion.

The entire skirmish transpired in a blur. Didé stood poised over his fallen assailants, his sword still sheathed, as a stunned hush fell over the gathered patrons. Only the thump of the mercenaries' bodies hitting the rough boards disturbed the silence.

With a disdainful sneer, the prince slowly straightened, looming over the tavern. His dark brown eyes raked across the room in clear challenge.

Didé's gravelly voice sent a fresh wave of unease rippling through the crowd. "Anyone else have business with Idolloan royalty?"

The deafening quiet marked the miners, traders and wanderers' unified decision to leave the prince be. Within moments, the Black Orchid had returned to its usual din, the unconscious mercenaries lying forgotten as another tale for the tavern's bulging repository of lore.

Nakaba let out a raucous peal of laughter at the display. "Well done, princeling. Now let's be on our way before any more riff-raff needs educating."

Didé flashed her a roguish grin, his sword now drawn and resting casually against his shoulder as they strode from the tavern. Patrons shrank back from their path, muttering in shock and awe at the fearsome pair who had so effortlessly put the infamous bounty hunters in their place.

As the two figures melted into the dusky evening streets, whispers trailed in their wake. "The Crown Prince of Idollo and his guard," some gasped in recognition. Others simply shook their heads in wondering just who these mysterious strangers were. But all knew one truth - they were not to be trifled with.