by Hannah King
It continued to rain as we entered the border of Leida and I was becoming even more grateful for the promise of shelter that night.
I wondered if the Leiden’s would serve us dinner. How much did they have available to them in the way of palatable resources? So long as it wasn’t mal bread and fish I was sure I’d be satisfied. My face clouded over suddenly. It was difficult to think about food without thinking of Wes. I hoped Leiden food would be good enough to comfort his grief a bit.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WES
WES’ HEAD FELT like it was underwater as their company followed the Leiden soldiers toward the entrance to the city. His thoughts were dark and everything he saw and heard felt muffled. He hardly even noticed the delicious smells that wafted over the company as they filed into the city. Fresh baked bread, roasting meat and herbs. The Leiden’s were likely preparing their evening meal. His stomach grumbled a little, but he didn’t care.
Stoically, he waited for direction. Once everyone had entered the city, more Leiden soldiers had joined the group, forming a circle around the Cronins.
Tratis had pulled to the front of the company, ahead of everyone else, including the leads. In fact, Wes couldn’t see the leads anywhere, they had pulled back, hidden by the assembly. Captain Tratis spoke in hushed tones to the Leiden commander. The man nodded and signaled for the company to continue on toward the citadel.
Wes noticed some of the Sustainers appeared nervous, while others were gaping at the sights. The streets were smooth and clean, and the buildings and stone towers were more than Wes could count, some reaching toward the sky in impressive heights.
They were heading into the heart of the city, toward a massive palace that seemed to be crafted almost entirely from marble. Wide silk flags rippled in the breeze next to the ivory sculptures that graced its turrets. Once they reached its courtyard they were brought to a halt. The Leiden commander blew a horn and everyone fell silent.
Tratis shifted in his saddle, scanning the area ahead as if he were expecting something or someone. After what seemed like an eternity, the thick doors of the citadel opened, and a tall young man dressed in exceptional clothing walked swiftly down the dark marble steps.
He had somber gray eyes, and light brown hair. His clean-shaven face was youthful but deeply serious, a line or two of age worn into his forehead.
Wes glanced at Tratis, but he did not seem relieved at the sight of the greeter, only agitated. He reined his horse in and jumped off to convene with the Leiden. Wes imagined he could hear the entire Sustainer camp craning their necks to see.
The young man folded his hands in front of him. There was no smile, no “hello” or “welcome,” uttered.
“Ambassador Pearadur, I would like an audience with the Paraphrant and Her Highness,” Tratis requested.
“The queen will be free to discuss your stay this evening,” the man replied coolly, in perfect Cronin. “In the meantime, there is a sanctioned area I can lead you to. There your company will receive an evening meal and sleeping quarters. I will escort you back, sir, when the Paraphrant is ready to receive you,” he bowed his head quickly and then resumed his stiff posture.
“Very well,” Tratis nodded with a frown.
Wes was surprised to hear the Leiden man speak Cronin so smoothly. It was almost identical to his own dialect but missing the guttural whish and flow that a native speaker could have taught him.
His version of the language is almost mechanical, he thought.
“It’s a reasonable distance to walk, if you’ll follow me,” the Leiden continued, gesturing in the direction. “Leave your horses here, they’ll be stabled for you.”
Tratis hesitated.
“There are no stables near the sanction, I apologize for any upset it may cause you,” the Leiden furthered. Tratis sighed and released the reins. The other captains dismounted and in the center of the company the leads also left their horses behind.
The Leiden mounted his own horse and gestured for the company to follow him. Wes caught a glimpse of Talitha, standing with the other captains, a few steps behind Tratis.
She was oddly still pale from the Parsley fever, but amazement was spreading over her face. She was staring in awe at the wide, granite paved streets, peering at the tall, graceful structures, and flicking her head back and forth as people passed, trying to catch a glimpse of the wealthy Leiden’s.
Wes noticed that almost everyone in the city gave the group a wide berth, skirting around the newcomers on tiptoes. One man had seemed to be going out of his home, and upon seeing the mass of people, he turned about as if he had forgotten something and shut the door behind him. Others stared silently from windows or small balconies.
“Not exactly a short walk,” Wes heard Stalvert complaining, but the cynical man was taking in the sights just as much as the rest of them were.
The Ambassador led them past hundreds of buildings and homes, then took a sharp right and continued until they reached the eastern edge of the city.
The company stopped directly in front of an old, vine covered wall with a rusted gate.
“Your sanction is through here,” the Ambassador ann-ounced. One of the Leiden guards jumped off his horse and inserted a key into the lock. The hinges creaked and the gate gave way, revealing a large courtyard full of tumbled stones and debris. Beyond it rose, or rather fell, a disintegrating, ruined fortress.
“You will have access to anything within these walls,” the Leiden man said to Tratis, as if it was a generous offer. “The Paraphrant has requested that no one leave these premises without express permission from an Ambassador such as myself. I will return here at least twice a day in order to receive and consider any such requests. Meals will be delivered by the laborers, and guards will be posted at the gate day and night for security.”
Tratis was taking it all in, his brow furrowed. “I see,” was all that he said to the smartly dressed fellow in front of him.
The Leiden squared his shoulders. “Your evening meal will arrive shortly. Please excuse me unless you have any further questions.” Without pausing for those “further questions,” the man turned his horse and trotted away.
Wes stole a glance at Tali who lifted her eyebrows at him nervously.
“File in,” Lead Talrinious ordered. One by one they stepped into the desolate space. Then the gate was shut, and the Leiden guards took up their posts. It’s like being under house arrest, Wes thought. A buzz of questions began to surface around him. Captain Tratis jumped onto a piece of tumbled stone in the courtyard and lifted a hand.
“Keep your voices down please and follow me. There’s some shelter inside, I’ll show you where to set yourselves.” With that he jumped down and gestured for everyone to follow him into the dilapidated structure. They followed slowly, coughing and sneezing as dust filled their noses.
The first room they shuffled into was a sort of ancient dining hall. A long, grimy table stretched down the length of it, paired with several rickety chairs, many of which were knocked over.
Dim light filtered inside through the crooked shutters that covered empty windows, indicating that the place had been built before the discovery of glass. Tratis ordered these opened to let in more light and along with it, brisk air that was better than the rancid smell within.
A few fielders began to build a small, smoky fire in the old hearth, frightening a host of starlings in the process. The others continued down the halls to similarly dark and dismal rooms. The foundation stones were leaning, the floor, when it could be found under the layers of dirt and dust, was uneven and full of treacherous cracks and holes.
Wes examined it cautiously, hoping not to trip. His heart jumped in his throat as he kicked aside some of the dust with his boot. The piece of stone was stained with old blood.
“You’ll find the air to be fresher upstairs, but there’s not much cover up there so it’s more akin to sleeping outside. Pick your poison,” Tratis said to the rank commanders. He took to the treacherous
stairs in quick strides.
Wes followed with a puzzled grimace. It was almost as if Tratis had been there before.
TALITHA
My skin crawled and my nose was burning from the dust as I followed Tratis up the steps to the second story. The landing opened to a level that we all tested cautiously.
“The floor’s sturdy enough here,” Tratis decided.
“Too bad the roof isn’t,” Stalvert griped, taking in the scene. The walls and floor were sturdy, as he’d said, though just as uneven, stained and dusty as the downstairs level, but here the air was considerably fresher; I attributed this to the gaping holes in the ceiling. There were puddles beneath those openings from the day’s rain, and dry spots were few and far between. Despite the lack of shelter from the elements I prayed I might be able to stay on that level. I knew I would suffocate in the lower.
“This is no worse than sleeping outside with the exception of stone to our back instead of dirt,” Lead Talrinious commented as he surveyed the shambled roof.
Captain Tratis nodded. “I thought maybe the captains and leads could stay up here in this crook of a room,” he said, leading them through a doorway. “It’s private enough, besides the birds,” he shrugged up at the sky.
The room boasted a closable door, and one window that looked down into the courtyard so that they might see anyone arriving. Lead Talrinious agreed and also decided that the rest of the second floor would house the third rank fielders. Everyone else was in the belly of the building, poor souls.
I sighed inwardly, relieved. It would be cold and damp, but I could breath, and I could see the sky. For some reason that made me feel safer in the rotten old building.
“Some hospitality,” Captain Gray was saying, “Cramming us in here. What was this place anyway?” she crossed her arms and shivered.
We set our packs down on the floor wherever it was dry.
Lead Breiden and Lead Talrinious were standing in the far corner silently. It was strange to be so close to them, but even stranger was how much both of them looked to be out of control in this new place. Only Captain Tratis seemed to be rising to the occasion, giving orders, checking in with rank commanders and taking the stairs many times to see that everyone was settled.
I knew we had let our expectations get the better of us. When Leida had first been suggested we doubted they would let us past the first gate. But most of us would admit, as we’d wandered through the clean streets and gaped at their glorious buildings, that we’d foolishly allowed ourselves to imagine fresh bed linens, a table set with bowls of hot stew, and cups filled with wine or ale.
This brand of hospitality felt like a slap in the face. But I knew beggars couldn’t be choosers, so I quickly returned to my usual low expectations. I was grateful we were safe from the Parters, and we could rest, finally.
Soon the rain stopped, and a faint outline of the sun sank behind the hills. Then, a horn sounded, startling many of us out of a nap. The evening meal promised by the stiff Ambassador had arrived. Hungrily, we made our way downstairs and filed into a line that reached all around the courtyard.
Laborers stood by a large wagon and filled simple plates with a piece of bread, a mixture of meat, dark gravy, and a strange sprinkle of herb that seemed an elegant correction to the rest of the plain meal. I held my own plate out, trying not to stare at the slave that was filling it.
I noticed a few of the Sustainers sharing glances with each other. We’d all known that Leida was a slave state, but it was hard to ignore that the practice our ancestors had fought so hard against was commonly accepted within these walls, even if the Leiden’s were civilized and peace-loving people, not the villains that the Parters were.
The girl scooped some of the dark gravy over my meat silently and returned my plate. I thanked her quietly, but she wouldn’t look me in the eye.
Her hair was cropped short in laborer fashion, but she was dressed nicer than I was, or at least, in cleaner clothing. A mid-length, simple gray dress reached down to her knees, belted with three strands of leather. On her left forearm was a branding mark in the form of a circle.
I would soon realize that every slave had a similar mark that they were given when bought at the market. It indicated their worth and what their owner had paid for them. Its purpose served as a way to distinguish the owner among his neighbors.
I’d done exactly what I warned myself not to do. I’d stared. I jumped into reality and handed her my cup. She filled it with a brownish mixture that I hoped wasn’t water. Upon further investigation it turned out to be heavily diluted ale, full of dregs.
Once we’d gotten our meals, we scattered around the courtyard to eat, less than eager to return to the building.
“At least they were courteous enough to send us some spirits,” Lewis raised an eyebrow at the mixture with a sardonic tone, “after all we’ve been through.”
“They decided to hold back on the drink, after spoiling us with such an extravagant garnish,” Gray noted, primly pulling the green herb off of her plate.
“It’s called halwrin,” Tratis said, chomping down on a thick stemmed piece. “It’s purifying. Supposed to keeps maggots and dead people away.”
“Nothing like a multifaceted herb,” Lewis quipped.
“Superstitious bunch,” Gray frowned, flicking the stuff away.
I chewed a bit of mine to test it and then stirred the rest into the mixture. It seemed to add to the flavor of the meat, regardless of its quoted benefits.
Despite a few shallow comments, little was uttered by the captains that evening. Tratis was shoveling his food down quickly. If the others had questions for him, he seemed to be evading them with his hurried manners.
Once he’d finished, he’d stood up and gone over to the old well in the center of the courtyard. Drawing a bucket, he began to splash his face clean, then wiped it dry with his cloak, ran a hand through his hair and began to straighten his clothing. He did not return to the captain’s circle, instead he sat on the edge of the well, scanning the street ahead.
“I can see it now,” Stalvert said almost under his breath after glancing at his fellow captain.
“See what?” Gray’s eyes flitted back from where they’d all been staring.
“He almost fits in.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TRATIS
HE’D NEVER MEANT to come back. Tratis tapped his foot against the cobblestones impatiently. That stuffed shirt of an Ambassador had said evening, but how late in the evening?
The meal he’d eaten far too quickly grumbled within him, his stomach almost as tense as his shoulders. He’d kept his presence calm and collected all day, on the outside. He’d pretended the sleeping quarters were exactly what he’d expected, made sure everyone had what they needed and shrugged away the complaints his fellow captains had made.
He’d felt nauseous all day, breathing in the familiar smells and sights, choking on the dust within the Turaphelin. The Turaphelin, he shook his head. It was the crumbling fortress of the Yules, the smattering of people who had lived in the land ages before the Leiden troop had laid siege and claimed the land for their own. It was seen as an unholy place, forsaken and quickly upstaged as the Leiden structures had risen above it, formidable and glorious in their clean architecture. The Turaphelin had been used as a prison in earlier days, until it became insecure due to its aged state, but it was still skirted around by the citizens as though it were cursed.
Tratis knew very well that being assigned to staying there was a pointed slight, the sort of thing any Leiden would stoop to, if only to remind a person, or half a country, of their place.
It was the Paraphrant’s doing he guessed. Had it been up to Eithne, they would have received quarters close to the palace, rooms perfumed with lavender, bunks, hot baths and meals from the kitchen. He should be grateful they’d even opened their doors, he knew, but he couldn’t help but bristle at the treatment.
He shifted uncomfortably and thought everything over one more tim
e. He’d spoken to the leads and prepared something they’d all agreed on. Tonight was only the first step. Setting them at ease, buttering them up for their help and ignoring the gap in their generosity. It wasn’t a time to gripe or be stubborn, he reminded himself, trying to shake off the indignation that was already burning inside him again, the same that had plagued him the first time he’d come to request their help.
Twilight faded, darkness fell, the others went to sleep. Finally, two riders appeared, a third horse in tow. A guard and the Ambassador. They stopped outside the gate. Tratis rose to his feet, knowing this was the only signal they would offer. He looked over his shoulder. He could hear the undeniable sound of Stalvert snoring all the way from the second floor. He knew Gray was awake, staring out the window. She would likely wait there as long as the meeting lasted, soundlessly saving up a hundred questions for him when he returned.
Tratis went out to meet them. After an affirming nod from the guard, he climbed onto the provided steed. They’d brought his own horse from the stables. It was a nice gesture, he thought, patting it on the neck like an old friend.
“I hope your people have adjusted to their accommodations,” the young Ambassador remarked. It may have been an attempt to be friendly, but in view of the actual accommodations, it seemed more like a dark joke. Tratis caught a scoffing chuckle in his throat and nodded.
“Yes, we have. Though some of us miss the Elm Beds a little,” he said this evenly, deciding to let the Leiden wrestle with whether or not it was sarcasm.
“I see,” was all he replied.
He is deadly serious for someone his age, Tratis thought. The fellow can’t be more than twenty.
They rode through the vacant streets with as little conversation as Tratis had expected, and soon arrived at the royal district. Passing through the old carved gate, they continued into the garden filled courtyard, lit with tall lamps.