“Sorry.” It was a standing joke along the caravan that he did not know his own strength. He shook his head and concentrated on the phalanx of genistars walking alongside the caravan, making sure the ge-horses were pulling the wagons in a straight line, the ge-wolves kept close, and the ge-eagles spiraled wide. The surface of the road was excellent, laid with large flat stones and well maintained—it was almost like a town pavement. But then, it was the main road through the mountains and led directly to the capital. Both eyes and farsight picked out several wagons and small convoys wending their way up and down the broad switchbacks ahead of them. He also saw a group of men on horseback accompanied by ge-wolves who were picking their way leisurely up the road. They would reach the head of the caravan by noon, he reckoned.
With his senses open wide, he slowly grew aware of the city’s emanations. It was a quiet background burble, similar to the aura of any human settlement, except that this time he was too far away to be sensing Makkathran’s population, no matter how talented and receptive he was. Besides, this had a different tempo from human minds; it was slower and much more content. It was the essence of a lazy summer afternoon distilled into a single long harmonic, pleasant and relaxing. He yawned.
“Edeard!” Salrana called.
He blinked, the worry in her mind switching him to full alertness. His ge-horse was meandering close to the edge of the road, not that it was dangerous. There was no sheer slope until farther down the hill where the switchbacks began; here there was just uneven ground and the curving crest. A quick couple of instructions to the ge-horse’s mind corrected his direction.
“Let’s try and arrive intact,” she said scathingly. “Lady, but your riding is still terrible.”
He was too disquieted to try to correct her with their usual banter. He no longer could sense the city’s lumbering thoughts; too much adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Now that the city was in sight, he was getting genuinely excited. At last the dreadful past was well and truly behind them.
It was midday when the caravan drew to a gradual halt amid the groaning of wood and metal brakes, the snorting of animals, and the quiet grumbles of humans. They were strung out over half a mile, curving around one of the longer switchbacks, which made it awkward for anyone else trying to use the road. The captain of the militia patrol who made them stop was mildly apologetic but insistent nonetheless.
Edeard was only a couple of wagons behind the front as Barkus asked: “Is there a problem, sir? This is our annual trip; we are well known to all the civic authorities.”
“I know you myself, Barkus,” the captain said as he eyed the caravan’s ge-wolves. He was sitting on a midnight-black terrestrial horse, looking very splendid in a ceremonial blue and scarlet tunic with polished brass buttons gleaming down the jacket. Edeard used his farsight to examine the revolver in the man’s white leather holster. It was remarkably similar to the one that had belonged to Genril’s family. The rest of the militiamen were similarly armed; they certainly were not carrying anything like the fast-firing gun of the bandits. Edeard did not know if that was a good thing. If the city did possess such weapons, they probably would not be put out on show with a patrol like this.
“However, I don’t remember you having so many ge-wolves before,” the captain said.
“We were in the Rulan province last year. A village was sacked by bandits; farms suffered losses in raids. You can’t be too careful.”
“Damned savages,” the captain spit. “Probably just two tribes fighting over some whore. I don’t know why you venture out there, Barkus. They’re all bandits and ne’er-do-wells if you ask me.”
Edeard slowly sat up very straight, keeping his gaze fixed on the captain. He strengthened the shield around him.
“Do nothing,” Barkus shot at him in a longtalk whisper.
“Edeard,” Salrana hissed quietly. He could sense the rage in her thoughts, barely contained. All around him the minds of his friends were radiating dismay and sympathy.
“But profitable,” Barkus continued smoothly. “We can buy very cheaply indeed out there.”
The captain laughed, unaware of the emotional storm gathering around him. “For which my friends in the city will pay greatly, I suppose.”
“That’s the essence of trade,” Barkus said. “After all, we do travel at considerable risk.”
“Well, good luck to you, Barkus. But I am responsible for the safety of Makkathran, so I must request that you keep your beasts on a leash within the city walls. They won’t be used to civilization. We don’t want any unfortunate accidents.”
“Of course.”
“You might want to get them accustomed to the idea as soon as you reach the plain.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Good. And no trading with the denizens of the Sampalok district, eh?”
“Absolutely not.”
The captain and his men turned around and rode off down the road, their pack of ge-wolves chasing along behind them.
Barkus saw the caravan start off again, then urged his ge-horse back to Edeard and Salrana. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said.
“They’re not all like that in the city, are they?” Salrana asked anxiously.
“Sweet Lady, no. Officers in the militia are usually the younger sons of an old family, little idiots who know nothing of life. Their birth provides them with a great deal of arrogance but no money. The militia allows them the illusion of continuing status, while all they actually do is search for a wealthy wife. Thankfully, they can do no real harm patrolling out here.”
Edeard was almost shocked by the notion. “If they need money, why don’t they join a guild and develop their psychic talent or begin a new business?”
To his surprise, Barkus burst out laughing. “Oh, Edeard, for all the distance you’ve traveled with us, you still have so much further to go. A nobleman’s son earn a living!” He laughed again before ordering his ge-horse back to the next wagon.
After Clipsham, Edeard wanted to take a horse and gallop across the Iguru until he reached Makkathran. Surely it would take no more than a few hours. However, he managed to keep his impatience in check and dutifully plodded alongside the wagons, helping to soothe the ge-wolves, which were unused to being leashed.
It was warm down on the plain, a gentle constant wind blowing a sea-humid air that Edeard found strangely invigorating. Winter here was a lot shorter than he was used to in the Rulan province, Barkus explained, though those months could see some very sharp frosts and several snow blizzards. By contrast, summer in the city was very hot and lasted for more than five months. Most of the grand families kept villas in the Donsori Mountains, where they spent the height of the hot season.
The Iguru’s farmland reflected the climate, with luxuriant growth covering every field. The road was lined with tall slender palm trees cloaked in ribbons of cobalt moss and sprouting tufts of scarlet and emerald leaves right at the top. Crops were different from those Edeard was used to. There were few cereal fields here but plenty of citrus groves and fruit plantations, with acre after acre of vines and fruiting bushes. Some cane fields were being burned back, sending black smoke plumes churning high into the clear sky. It was volcanic soil underfoot, which contributed as much to the healthy verdant hue of the vegetation as did the regular rain and sun-soaked sky. Armies of ge-chimps bustled about over the land, tending to the plants, with supervisors riding among them on horses. The farmhouses were grand whitewashed buildings with red clay tile roofs, as big as the guild compounds back in Ashwell.
Despite all the hours they spent rolling forward that morning, the panorama on both sides of the straight road remained unnervingly similar. Only the volcanic cones offered landmarks by which to measure progress. Edeard could see veins of silver streams running down their slopes before vanishing into the dense skirts of dark jade trees. But there were no caldera crowns; they rose to simple rounded crests.
On many of them cottages had been built on narrow ledges, co
mpact yet elaborate constructions that his friends explained were little more than pavilions in which the city’s wealthy spent languid days enjoying the fabulous view; it was common to install a favored mistress in one.
Traffic began to increase as they neared Makkathran. Terrestrial horses were now more common than ge-horses, with their riders wearing expensive clothes. Wagons piled high with produce from the farms and estates of the plain lumbered toward the markets and merchant warehouses. Fancy carriages with curtained windows rattled past. Edeard was surprised to find them shielded from casual farsight by a mild variant of his own concealment ability; their footmen radiated sullen anger, discouraging anyone from prying.
The final approach to the city walls was home to an astonishing variety of trees. Ancient black-and-gray trunks sentried the road on either side, sending gnarled boughs overhead to form twined arches that were centuries old. At first Edeard thought there had been some kind of earthquake recently. All the trees, no matter their age and size, leaned one way, their branches bowing in the same direction. Then it slowly dawned on him that the constant wind had shaped them, pushing their branches away from the shoreline.
For the last quarter of a mile, the ground was simple flat meadow, home to flocks of sheep. When they left the shelter of the trees, Edeard was awarded his first sight of the city since they had descended from the foothills. The crystal wall faced them, rising sheer out of the grass to a height of thirty yards. Although transparent, it had a gold hue, distorting the silhouettes of the buildings inside and making it impossible to gather a true impression of what lay within. It formed a perfect circle around the city, the same height all the way around except for the port on the eastern side, where it dipped down to allow the sea to wash against the quays. Querencia’s gentle tides had no visible effect on it; the stubborn crystal was as immune to erosion forces as it was to all other forms of assault. Neither bullets nor pickaxes could chip it; glue did not stick to it. As a defensive barrier it was nearly perfect.
Its only known susceptibility was to telekinesis, which could wear down its strength gradually. That was how Rah had opened the city to his people; a powerful telekinetic, he systematically cut through the crystal, shaping three gateways. Legend said that each one took him two years to carve out. His followers fixed the huge detached segments to giant metal hinges, transforming them into tightly fitting gates. In the two millennia since, they had been shut only eight times. For the last seven hundred years they had remained open.
The caravan passed through the north gate. It was seven yards wide at the base, arching up ten yards above Edeard’s head, and the passageway into the city was three yards long. The gate was hinged back flat against the wall on the inside. He found it hard to believe that the huge thing could move; the hinges seemed wondrously primitive contraptions, all bulbous iron joints and girders studded with rivets. Yet they had not corroded, and the pivots were kept oiled.
Directly inside to the left of the road was a broad swath of paddock land named the High Moat, which followed the wall’s curve around to the Upper Tail district next to the port. As horses were prohibited from the main districts, many families maintained stables there, simple wooden buildings that had been added to over the centuries; there were also stockades for cattle and traveler pens, even a couple of cheap markets. On the opposite side of the road, the similar crescent of Low Moat led around to the Main Gate. Running along the inner edge of the moats was the North Curve Canal, lined with the same whitish material from which the majority of the city had been fabricated, resembling icy marble yet stronger than any metal humans could forge on Querencia.
Edeard stared enchanted at the gondolas as they slid along the canal. He had seen boats before; Thorpe-by-Water had them in abundance, as did many other towns. Yet those were coarse workaday cousins compared with these elegant black craft. They had shallow keels with tall prows rising out of the water carved into elegant figures. The cushioned benches of the midsection were protected from the hot sun by white awnings, and the gondolier stood on a platform at the stern, manipulating a long punt pole with easy grace. Each gondola was home to at least a couple of ge-cats. Edeard smiled happily at the traditional genistar forms, which were swarming in and out of the salty water. Unlike the bloated creatures he had shaped back in Ashwell, these were streamlined aquatics with webbed feet and long sinuous tails. The surface of the canal was alive with ripples as they continually chased after nimble fil-rats and chewed on strands of trilan weed to keep the canal clear.
“Oh, my great Lady,” Salrana gasped, gawping out at the city.
“We did the right thing,” Edeard said with finality. “Yes, we did.” Now that he was inside the crystal wall, the true aura of the city was washing against him. He’d never sensed such vitality before, the kind of exhilarating emotional impact that could come only from so many people pursuing their hectic lives in close proximity. Individuality was impossible to distinguish, but the collective sensation was a powerhouse of animation. He felt uplifted simply by drinking in the sights and sounds.
The caravan turned off the road. Barkus had a quick conversation with a city Travel Master who assigned them three pens on High Moat where they could set up to trade. The wagons rumbled along the narrow track to their final destination.
Edeard and Salrana walked their ge-horses over to Barkus’s wagon. It was an act rich with association with that time back in Thorpe-by-Water when they had come to the caravan master for help. The old man’s family had been setting up the awnings on either side of the ancient wagon. They had all been strangers back then, curious and suspicious. Now Edeard knew them all and counted them as friends, which made this so very difficult. Salrana’s thoughts were subdued and morose as Barkus turned to face them.
The old caravan master eyed the packs they were carrying. “You’re really going to stay here, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
He hugged both of them. Salrana had to wipe tears from her eyes. Edeard was fighting to make sure the same thing did not happen to him.
“Have you got enough money?”
“Yes, sir, we’re fine.” Edeard patted the pocket inside his trousers. Along the route he had sold enough ge-spiders to pay for weeks in a lavishly appointed tavern, and he was dressed respectably again.
“If it doesn’t work out, we’ll be here for a week. You’re welcome to come with us, both of you. You’ll always have a home on the road with us.”
“I will never forget your kindness,” Edeard said.
“Nor I,” Salrana added.
“Go on, then; be off with you.”
Edeard could see in the old man’s agitated thoughts that this was just as painful for him. He gripped Barkus’s arm and squeezed it tightly before turning away. Salrana threw her hands around the caravan master’s neck and kissed him gratefully.
The road that had brought them into the city ended just short of the North Curve Canal. They walked beside the waterway for a little while until they found a bridge over it. It was made from a tough ocher-colored variety of the ubiquitous city material, a simple low arch to which wooden railings had been added on either side. There were so many people using it, bustling against him, that Edeard had to clutch his shoulder bag tightly. But there were no animals, he realized, not even ge-chimps. The bridge took them into the Ilongo district, which was made up of small boxlike buildings two or three stories high with vaulting lierne roofs and walls that often leaned away from perpendicular. Windows followed no pattern; there were angled slits, crescents, teardrops, circles, ovals, but never squares; they all had panes of a thick transparent crystal that grew, shaped, and replenished itself in the same slow fashion as the structures themselves. Entrances were simple arched oblongs or ovals cutting through ground floor walls; humans had added the wooden doors, fixing hinges into the structure with nails hammered into place with telekinesis. Over the years the pins would be ejected slowly by the city material as it repaired the puncture holes they had made, necessitating refixing e
very decade or so. The constant sedate renewal of the city’s fabric made the whole place look fresh, as if it had only just been completed.
The gap between the buildings was narrow. Sometimes, beside a canted corner, there was barely a couple of feet left between walls, forcing Edeard to turn sideways to squeeze through; other passages were broad pavements that allowed several people to walk side by side. They came across little squares and courtyards, all of which were provided with fountains of fresh water bubbling up through the top of a thick pillar.
“Does nobody work?” Salrana asked in puzzlement after they had been thoroughly jostled for ten minutes while negotiating the narrow pavements. “The whole city must be walking about.”
Edeard simply shrugged. The district was a confusing maze. It was also where he discovered that the city material was almost opaque to farsight. He could only sense the murkiest shapes on the other side of the walls, and he certainly could not perceive right through a building. He was not used to having his perception cut so short; it unnerved him slightly. Eventually he summoned his ge-eagle and sent it soaring above the roofs, mapping a way for them.
He wanted to get to the Tosella district, where the Eggshaper Guild had its Blue Tower. It was the district to the east of Ilongo, separated from it by the Hidden Canal. Despite it being so close, they took forty minutes to negotiate Ilongo before crossing the thin canal on a small wooden bridge.
Tosella’s buildings were on a much larger scale than the ones they had seen so far. They were long rectangular mansions with tall slit windows stacked on top of one another up to six stories high and topped with concentric ring domes that intersected like waves frozen in midswirl. The ground directly outside their walls was fenced off with high slender pillars, separating the public pavement from emblem mosaics of glittering primary-color flecks. Their ground floors were arched cloisters enclosing central quads where prim gardens grew in long troughs under the cool tinted light shining through the roof skylights high above. For the first time in the city, he sensed the minds of genistars. A ground floor in one of the mansions had been converted into stables for them. He even glimpsed apprentices and journeymen scurrying around the quads, their thoughts anxious and subdued as they tried to keep in their Masters’ good graces. It brought a smile to his face as he recalled some of Akeem’s more outrageous stories of an apprentice’s life in Makkathran.
The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle Page 36