The sheer nerve of this man. Does he think that older heroes are too delicate for straw beds?
The innkeeper turned and clapped his hands. “Marie! The finest silken sheets for our guest. And a bath. Don't spare the aromatic salts. And heat up the finest sweet porridge . . .” His voice dropped off when he turned back and saw my face glowering a flyspeck away from his sweaty brow.
“Porridge?” I drummed my fingers on the counter. “Do you serve such filth to every soldier of the empire who walks through your doors? Or just the heroes?”
“Marie,” the man squealed. “Only the finest cuts of the pork haunch roasting on the spit for our illustrious guest.”
I nodded and turned towards the door. My hand froze in the act of gathering my kit when I heard the man whispering.
“Well-roasted and tender, mind you. Be sure to trim the blackened, gristly bits. And maybe some soft peas and mashed potatoes on the side?” As I whipped around, the innkeeper smiled. “We shall prepare a feast fit for a . . . hero. Now, if you head up the stairs to your room, sir, I believe Marie has drawn you a nice, hot bath.”
The bath in the large copper tub was relaxing. After locking the door, more to hide my unrestrained squeals of delight than my naked body, I slipped a few more handfuls of salts and suds into the water than was properly masculine. I soaked in the privacy of my room and let the mask slip. Everything below my neckline vanished under the bubbles, senses smothered by the warm, tingling embrace of the hot water. I wiggled my hairy toes, which poked above the surface.
The dinner was tasty. I insisted on a hard crust of bread to sop the juices from the meat. My teeth may be missing, but my pride was intact. Time was a soldier of the empire could doss in a barn with his steed for two coppers and no questions asked. Fame is an awful burden to bear. The inn laid out its finest spread for the Hero of Jerkum pass.
That night, rummaging through my saddlebags in the privacy of my room, I found three items buried deep inside them: a large mug, a tiny bag of salt, and a set of false teeth. I tilted the room's small lamp to better examine the silver and ivory teeth. Hadn't seen these in awhile. Only wore them for special occasions. I ran my tongue across my naked gums. Guess this qualifies. I remembered the nightly routine from nights gone by, filling the large mug with warm, salty water. I submerged the teeth for the evening and went to sleep.
The next morning, the innkeeper and his assistant were met with a blinding smile of sterling and ivory. They knew better than to offer me porridge again! However, the toasted crust of bread and dried fruit made for a very welcome breakfast. Then they presented me with the hero's bill.
I staggered out the door with a woefully half-empty purse. Maybe I should have swallowed my pride . . . and the porridge.
Another day in the saddle did not help the pork from last night settle in my stomach, but the rest of the journey passed without incident. When inns were available, I asserted my hero's prerogative. When they were not, old barns and bushes were enough for an old soldier, lulled to sleep by the buzz of insects and hooting of the owls.
The weather was clement enough, but still, the capital was a happy sight the afternoon of the sixth day and I nearly cheered as I saw the tips of the spires over the hills. Realizing such reserved ways hardly befitted a true hero, I let out a loud whoop, startling one of the passing cart drovers.
I touched Krag's withers and trotted into the warm bosom of civilization. No more nights in the bushes for me!
Even from the outside, the city was a grand sight. Glass and steel spires commingled alongside ancient stone walls. The capital is both an ever-changing testament to mechanized progress and a timeless artifact of the empire's history. The iron gates opened wide to welcome all visitors and as I slowed Krag to a walk and rode through, saluting the guards as I compared their armor to mine, feeling fake wrapped in my tin plates.
The guards were wearing proper cavalry armor. I had a suit of it packed away somewhere, didn't I? I smiled as an old memory surfaced. Of course, there was the time I caught Kelsa playing with it.
I had hid and watched, only revealing myself after she had strewn my armor across the room. She tossed the leathers and padding aside and went straight for the armor. The helmet covered her head and wobbled on her shoulders, her cries muffled by the padding inside it. She chucked the helmet. The greaves, which were only supposed to extend just past the knees, swallowed her legs whole. She braced herself against the wall, walking with a stiff-legged gait before she screamed and kicked them off. The breast plate was next. The riveted leather and steel plate cuirass—wonderfully light to an adult—drove the poor little girl to her knees.
One of the soldiers whipped off a classic barracks salute, breaking my reverie. The other one flubbed it miserably, and I clucked and shook my finger at him. “In my day, we knew how to salute, by the five gods. As I am still here, it is still my day. Take example from your friend here, son.” I glanced at his uniform, looking for some redeeming qualities. His red surcoat was fresh pressed and the chain mail underneath had not a speck of rust. “Your salute is awful, but your uniform is quite acceptable.”
“Welcome back, Sir Corbin,” the guard with the crisp salute said while his partner reddened and stared straight ahead. “Here to attend the annual meeting and awards ceremony?”
“Well, somebody's got to consume all that alcohol and force down all that rich food. Would that I had another reason for visiting, son, but yes. Duty calls.” I cupped a hand to my ear. “Can you hear her ringing?”
“ . . . like a dinner bell, sir," the guard replied, waving me forward. “Enjoy your stay in the capital.”
I turned to bow in my seat to the flag draped on the distant castle walls, noticing for the first time the black pennon overlaying the imperial crest. “Who has died?” I asked the guard quietly.
“Have you not heard, Sir Corbin?” the guard replied. “The emperor was struck down by a mysterious illness. They say it was the final blow from those cowardly rebel mages. Those stinking traitors don't know when they've been thrashed.”
“And who rules in his stead?”
“Empress Cordelia I. Long may she reign.” He raised his fist in the air. “Death to the mages!”
“Such horrible news,” I murmured. “May our new empress find the strength to close the affair quickly and justly.” I nodded to the guards before riding past the gates and proceeding to the outer city while my eyes remained fixed on the castle dominating the inner city .
The inner city is a fortress on a hill in the northwest corner of a valley: a walled town complete with an imposing castle that serves as the emperor's . . . empresses's mansion, a large temple that retains its original use, and old houses long since converted to bureaucratic offices and little shops. The streets are too narrow for modern machines and the roads tend to meander, so the only vehicle allowed is the empresses's palanquin.
Walking through the old town evokes visiting a museum more than anything else and the bureaucrats often dress the part, wearing rich brocades and ruffled sleeves that harken to a distant past, often taking time from their busy days to act as guides for bewildered tourists. The quaint stone and wattle charm of the inner city is maintained by the will of the emperor . . . empress and the historical preservation society.
Over the years, the inner city had been swallowed by the more modern, steam-powered capital thrusting an ordered array of towering buildings all around it. While the quaint walled town remained the off center epicenter of imperial government, a new city spread to fill the rest of the valley. If the inner city was dedicated to showcasing our past, the outer city flaunted the empire's role in building the future. Where the inner city retained the coarse, blunt lines of the corrupt monarchy from whom the empire appropriated it, the outer city displayed the expansive steel and glass grace that is the modern stamp of the Iron Empire.
I leaned back in my saddle and breathed the sweet, acrid fumes. I could feel the vibrations in the air. Hear the clanging from the great fact
ories. All that time spent languishing in the village. So refreshing to finally return to the steel bosom of civilization. I steered Krag towards the Army Headquarters on the outskirts of the old city with a glad heart.
A private greeted me at the door. “The meeting was moved to the conference center on Piston Avenue, Lieutenant Corbin. Did you forget the change of venue, sir?”
Kelsa's tiny voice surged to the surface. Did I miss one of the letters on his desk? Curse the gods' blind eyes.
I pushed the girl back down to the bottom of my mind, tucked her into bed, and slammed the door shut. “Forget? Of course not.” I patted the walls and chuckled a little too forcefully. “Just wanted to make sure the old walls were still standing without you fellows propping them up.”
“They will stand as long as the empire. May the empire stand forever.”
“Nothing lasts forever, son. The monarchy faded. Someday we will, too.”
“Don't let the bureaucrats hear you say that, sir. If the empire falls, they'll all need to get real jobs.”
We shared a quiet chuckle while I gestured to the dual city surrounding us. “The way of the world. Stone gave rise to steel. Someday, the steel will rust away and get replaced by something else. Everything fades,” I sighed. “Even an old man's memories. Thank you for the reminder, Private . . . ”
“Corvid, sir,” the young man said, wincing. “Private Corvid.”
Strange name. I glanced at the soldier again. Something about his appearance reminded me of a story about the ancient great war with our neighbors to the north. That dark hair is normal enough in the heart of the empire, but his skin has a well-tanned sheen. What if that's a natural dusky complexion? And is he a head shorter than the man standing next to him? My eyes flitted to the lad's forearms. He had the same sparse, light, womanish body hair as the warriors who had passed me on the Northern Road. What's a northern lad doing wearing an imperial uniform? Where is his tattoo?
I grinned. No reason not to find out.
“Corvid is a good name, private. Glad to see the northern clansmen keeping . . . some of their traditions alive in the bosom of the empire.”
He blushed, “My grandmother was a barb, sir. She insisted on the name.”
“Stand . . . tall, son.” I bit my tongue. “Such a heritage is hardly shameful. Any people who can whup an imperial battalion in pitched battle deserve respect. Do you believe in the five gods?” I asked, wondering what the lad's response would be.
“Yes, sir. Of course I do, sir,” the guard said, his blush spreading. “My Granny was no heathen, but she wasn't just any barb either. She was full-blooded shaman before the priests saved her soul, and she practiced magic to her dying day. I'd rather keep that quiet given the situation here in the capital, sir.”
What situation? I wondered, before remembering. The great war was largely a conflict between magic users: their shamans versus our mages. Of course, a young, imperial soldier doesn't want people making that connection now. “Calm yourself. I know how to keep a secret, lad.”
The soldier nodded and smiled. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Your old regiment is all gathered at the headquarters on Vilius Avenue.”
“I had best find my way there. Old soldiers are a thirsty lot, and they wouldn't dare start the celebration without me.” I chuckled. “Or worse, maybe they would. ”
“If anyone deserves to be commemorated by their peers, it's you, sir.”
“As well they should! I've crammed 500 years of heroic deeds into a single lifetime.”
“So many achievements,” the soldier marveled, “and you don't look a day over 200, sir.”
I grunted and turned Krag towards one of the side streets. “You're lucky I'm retired, son. Back in my day, soldiers who cheeked their officers shoveled horse shit until their arms fell off.”
“Yes, sir. I will put myself on report to muck the stables this evening, sir.” The northern lad whipped off a classic salute.
Private Corvid. Good to see old traditions surviving in this frantic, changing world. Some old traditions, at least, I amended, smiling as the private's excited voice drifted on the wind.
“Wait till I tell the guys I got disciplined by the Hero of Jerkum Pass!”
His enthusiasm made my bones ache. Surely, I was not so young and bubbly once?
Surely not , Kelsa murmured, chuckling before I silenced her.
The headquarters was like any other hastily erected government building in the outer city: a flat, featureless edifice of brick and steel. It looked more like a fancy box with doors and little knife slits for windows than a real building. I walked Krag to the stables around the back. Government architecture was nothing if not predictable. I went back around to the front of the building and threw open the doors. Not for Sir Corbin, sneaking through the back entrance.
The two soldiers manning the door politely requested that I surrender my sword and dagger. I acquiesced without qualm. I had come here to celebrate, not to fight. With a nod to the soldier and a lazy salute, I threw open the doors and sauntered into the building.
People milled about the atrium, glasses and mugs held in one hand, tiny tasty snacks in the other. It was a riotous swirl of gossip, old clinking metals, and ill-fitting uniforms. Little groups huddled together in bunches of red and blue. Each colored uniform would split and coalesce separately, like machine oil mixed with floral-scented water. I stiffened as a mage passed me, yanking his sky-colored blouse to avoid touching my blood red armor. Can't blame army mages for the current political crisis, but one would think free booze might loosen them up a bit.
One person sat silent amidst the revelry, her hands clasping a glass of white wine as she eyed the door. She was a bastion draped in ruffled purple brocade among a forest of uniforms and military garb. It wasn't as elegant as my crimson cloak, but it made an impression. Our eyes met and a name floated to the surface: Maven . “My friends,” I shouted, raising my arms, “Corbin has arrived.”
The forest of trees all swayed towards my radiance like plants bowing to the sun. I made pleasant small talk of weather and the hard journey and doesn't damp weather ache old bones, every verbal skirmish bringing me one step closer to the purple maiden. “Hello, Corbin,” she murmured as I danced through the crowd to her chair.
“Nice to see a show of unity in this clashing mess of red and blue.”
“Can you blame them?” Maven sipped her wine. “All mages are branded by their rebel ilk. The wizards think the cavalry is going to hunt them down after they gave their lives for the empire and feel betrayed. The cavalrymen are insulted anyone would dare assume they might sully their honor riding down old friends and colleagues and feel betrayed. You missed the opening salvo. Now they just circulate in icy silence.”
“Such elegant garments next to our drab peers. And me.” I banged on my cuirass. “Wearing your civvies, I see, Madam.”
“Madam?” She quirked an eyebrow, then scowled. “That makes me feel my years more than three days in the saddle. Not here . . . not now. Today we are young again. You even look the part. However did you get that old armor to fit properly?”
I coughed. “I'm afraid this owes more to a costume shop than a blacksmith. Had it tailored. This plate mail would not turn aside a harsh glare. You wound me, Maven. You wound me in the heart.”
“Haven't forgotten my name at least. Everyone is getting so forgetful these days.” She took another sip of wine and gestured to the crowd. “You must love all this. Never left the battlefield, did you, Corbin? Up here,” she tapped her skull. “And I hear you're still wearing that old ring around your neck. It makes you clank like a tin bell when you walk.”
I bowed. “I wear the ring . . . to honor the mother of my child.”
“Do you, now?” she asked, taking a long, slow sip.
“You disapprove?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Whether you wear that stupid ring in public is your business.”
What does this woman know about my grandfather's ring? I took her glas
s and quaffed the rest of the wine. Her glare grew more furious as I sipped down to the dregs. “Ancient, bitter vintage,” I muttered. “Almost vinegar. Pity what the passage of time does to fine wine. ”
“I could sour your adoring audience with a few choice stories, hero. Like how you betrayed my dear sister. She was as pale and sparkling sweet as this Dragon Crystal White '22. Now be a dear,” her words slurred as she gestured toward the bar across the room, “and bring me another glass. Someone masquerading as a gentleman stole my wine.”
I vanished into the crowd before she could see the shiver crawl up my spine.
5. CORBIN, YEAR 198
The bar stretched across the entire expanse of the western wall like a granite shelf overlooking a swift current. Most of the stools were empty as patrons swirled through the crowd in a river of noise, only venturing into the little eddy along the bar to refresh their glasses before diving back into the throng.
As I approached, an unseen hand reached behind and slapped me on the shoulder. The impact pushed me into the protruding edge of the bar as cold, sticky ale splashed and trickled down my neck. I turned and saw the grinning face of my old friend, Drake. The years had etched fresh lines and wrinkles into his face, but his smile remained unchanged since the last time he had been to the house. My lips quirked as he wrapped me in a warm, sticky embrace. I let my hands dangle at my sides for a moment before reaching up. Patting an old friend on the back seemed safe enough. Drake laughed at my feeble attempts and squeezed me tight.
“Corbin, you old warhorse! You visit with Maven before talking to me? I am enraged, buddy mine.” He gave another hearty laugh without a hint of anger or malice. Then, he leaned closer and whispered, “Notice anything missing when you came in here?” He gestured around the room, mug sloshing. “No mage detectors. The bitch had them stripped from the walls yesterday and removed from the premises. All her powder blue compatriots joined the fun. 'An affront to the mages,' she said.”
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