by B. K. Boes
Imrah frowned. “What sort of proof?”
“We have intelligence that says your master is involved in the slave censuses. We know how many boys we’ve saved, but we don’t know much about the official numbers of slave-sons born and waiting for their turn to go to the canyons; this leaves us with very little knowledge of exactly how much of an effect we’re having.”
Imrah nodded. “If I can find numbers comparing how many slave-sons are typically sent and contrast them to the numbers in the last two years, I might find a slight decrease,” she said. “But will that be enough?”
Prestis shook his head. “If they have projections, what they expect to happen in the coming years based upon the younger slave-population now, that would hopefully carry more dramatic results.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Imrah said.
“Good. Now, I need your help on the second point, too.”
“On expanding our influence?” Imrah tilted her head. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“It’s complicated,” Prestis said. “But, basically, I have someone I want you to talk to. A woman.”
“Go on,” Imrah said. Prestis had never brought anyone to her before. It had always been Lapuro or Illya.
“I know you’ve been doing well converting women to our way of thinking,” he said. “You’ve brought in a lot of slave-wives.”
“I’ve only done what’s been asked of me. And I like helping,” Imrah said.
“I’ve been quite impressed.”
Imrah shook her head. “Lapuro or Illya are always the ones to set it up. I just talk.”
“Still,” Prestis said. “Your contribution is valuable.”
“I’d like to do more,” Imrah said. “I just haven’t found the courage to trust myself when it comes to whether or not a woman would be receptive.”
Prestis smiled softly. “You should have more faith in yourself.”
Imrah looked away, keeping her own smile to a minimum. They couldn’t stay here much longer. She put a hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows. “Just tell me about the woman.”
“You’re willing to talk to her? Convince her she can trust me? This is important, and a little dangerous. She’s an innkeeper’s slave-wife down at Bazz Harbor.”
Imrah had to process that for a moment. “Down by the Lower Sector Docks? On the south side?” She’d never been that far into the Lower Sector, and there was ample reason for her to never lay foot in the area. Her household emblem could easily get her into the Lower Sector to see an old friend in the Forgotten Vale. But questions would be asked if she tried to get into the Lower Sector by the closest gate to Bazz Harbor.
“If you don’t think you can—”
“No,” Imrah interrupted before she lost her resolve. “I want to help.”
“All right, then,” Prestis said. “There’s a storage house my associates own, just outside The Order of Being, near Garrison Four. Do you know it?”
Imrah shuddered. “You can’t miss those abominations,” she said. “I’ve seen maps of that part of town. I’m sure I can find the storage house.” The Order of Being was the Emperor of Adikea’s version of a sanctuary. Only instead of worshipping the Sustainer, The Order of Being encouraged worship of the Emperor first and the Self second. It was sacrilege, and they were scattered throughout the city. Imrah refused to step foot inside any of them, though she knew generational slave-wives who accepted The Order of Being. It only served to enforce the Adikeans’ idea of their place in society.
“Good,” Prestis said. “Look for our symbol above the doorways. The northern entrance will be unlocked at sundown in seven days’ time. Bring whatever you can find in your household related to the censuses.”
“You want me to do it at night?” Imrah said, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
“The tavern is alive and well at sundown. It’s the best time to talk to her without being noticed. We’ll blend into the crowd. And it’s very close to the Southern Pass.”
Imrah was about to tell him it didn’t matter, that she couldn’t take the Southern Pass or the gate into the Lower Sector closest to the harbor, but a man stuck his head out of the second story of his shop above them.
“You lost?” he shouted. “We don’t like foreigners on our streets, not so far from proper lodging.”
Imrah covered her emblem as best she could. If she could avoid being identified, it would be better for the both of them.
Prestis waved at the man. “This slave-wife was trying to give me directions to Tryndt Landing, but I’m afraid she’s a little thickheaded.”
Imrah narrowed her eyes at him. “Thickheaded?” she whispered.
He mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”
“Just take two lefts down that way,” the man pointed down the road, “and you’ll get back to the main street. Follow it all the way west and you’ll find Tryndt.”
Prestis nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He quickly whispered to Imrah that he’d see her soon. She opened her mouth to speak, but he had already turned to go. She looked up at the man still peering out from his window.
“You get yourself back to your Master,” he said. “Who do you belong to?”
Imrah pretended not to hear him, picked up the woven box with her master-husband’s sandals, and quickly walked in the opposite direction. The man kept calling after her, but soon she turned a corner, and she no longer could hear him.
Bazz Harbor. I can do this.
Imrah took a deep breath as she made her way back to the Central Sector and tried not to think about all of the dangers that lay between the Forgotten Vale and the harbor, half a city away.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Moloch
The City of Pytar, Ergon
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Moloch guided Dancer up the road carved into the Northern Radelle Mountains toward Pytar, the capital city of Ergon. Bram rode beside him, and behind them trailed a dozen Eikonian guards loyal to the Sarrem family name. A never-ending rock wall rose to their right-hand side, and to the left, a steep drop into a deep chasm.
As they neared the city, Moloch felt a little of his confidence drain. He looked at Bram, ever by his side. The man was even more light-hearted than usual lately, as he’d taken Marna as his wife a mere cycle before following Moloch on this mission.
A new wife at home, and yet he’s still here to aid me.
Bram was a good friend, and he was the one man Moloch could trust to tell him the truth at all times. “What if I can’t convince the king, Bram?” Moloch let the question he’d been mulling over for weeks of travel slip out between his lips.
“Don’t think like that,” Bram said. “You must convince him. Don’t give yourself the option of failure. You know?”
Moloch closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “There’s just so much at stake.”
Bram licked his lips and studied the road ahead for a moment before responding. “So much at stake for who? Eikon, or you?”
“Both, I suppose.” Moloch felt heat creep up his neck. He had been thinking more about his title and Junia than he had about his nation.
“I get it,” Bram shrugged. “It’s personal for you. Just remember it’s personal for a lot of people, including me. Ergon needs our help. Did you know Marna has some family here, down in the foothills? I want her to know they’re safe. And can you imagine how our countrymen would feel to see the Unification begin? A path to permanent peace being laid in their lifetime?”
Moloch sighed. “So, you think I should detach myself? Make it purely about business so my emotions don’t interfere?”
Bram chuckled. “No, Moloch. I mean for you to make it more personal. Beyond the things you want for yourself. Include your smaller-scale desires but give your passion even more fuel. Dig down deep and find your patriotism. Be Moloch, but also be Lord Sarrem, a man responsible for more than just himself.”
“That’s not how my father would handle this.”
&
nbsp; Bram raised his brows. “And neither would Waen. Are you trying to make my point? Who came up with this crazy plan? Who was sent to make it happen?”
Moloch nodded once. “You’re right. I’ll do this my way.”
“There you go,” Bram said. “That’s the only way to get this done.”
“Thank you, Bram,” Moloch said.
They rounded a bend in the road. The sun shone through two peaks, causing Moloch to look away for a moment. When his eyes adjusted to being out of the mountain shadows, he looked forward again and pulled up on his reins. Dancer whinnied and snorted, fidgeting under Moloch, eager to keep moving, but obedient in his master’s guidance.
Before him was the great city of Pytar, towering upwards and spreading out as far as he could see. Its name was carved into huge rocks set into the mountainside. Every village in Ergon had a stone totem with its name. It had something to do with casting luck on those who lived there. But, none compared to the dwelling sized hunks of stone declaring the greatness of the city of Pytar. Each Ergonian letter must have been inlaid with gold, as the name glittered in the sunlight.
Moloch let his gaze wander from the totem to the city that lay just beyond it. Caves served as shops and homes. Bridges of stone and rope crisscrossed from one cave to another over the chasm that split the city. Roads followed the curvature of the mountains on either side. Nets were stretched below each level of the city, under bridges and gaps. Men, women, and children walked the roads and bridges, going about their business in long-sleeved tunics, fitted trousers, and heavy boots. Wind whistled between the chasm below, a soft song beneath the chatter of the city. In the distance, beyond the city borders, a fog lingered low on the horizon.
Steam from the Mavyem Valley.
Moloch shuddered at the memory of meeting Lord Nondrum at the edge of a cliff. The way the fog curled and licked at the Ancient Bridge that stretched out into nothingness. The knowledge that death and toxic fumes lay below. The look of hatred in Junia’s father’s eyes. The accusations against his own father. He shuddered again as he knew he would set aside time to meet with the man while he was here in Pytar.
Lord Nondrum must know how near I am to gaining my title. And he must know I haven’t lost my love for Junia, that I am still just as determined as I was before.
“Colonel Sarrem?” A guard from behind cleared his throat, and Moloch realized he had stopped the entire procession.
Moloch shook away his awe at the city and the memories it conjured. He gently goaded Dancer forward with his heels. Ahead Ergonian archers stood at the ready on cliffs above the entrance to the city. Two stone pillars rose on either side of the road, and more Ergonian soldiers were positioned beside them. The blades of their axes were buffed to a shine.
“Everything all right?” Bram asked.
“Yes,” Moloch said, but then his brow furrowed as a man in long, heavy flowing robes, red with gold embroidery, stepped onto the road. The man held up his hand, and when they were but a few paces from the entrance to the city, Moloch pulled up on Dancer’s reigns.
“We are a delegation from Eikon here to see your king. I am Lord Moloch Sarrem, son of the Chief Military Advisor to King Shamylle the Fourth.” Moloch spoke clearly and firmly, but with respect.
The man smiled. “I am Emissary Ikar. Your scout arrived two days ahead, and His Majesty is eagerly awaiting you in the Pinnacle Fortress. We have rooms prepared for you all. I will escort you there.”
“That is good news, Emissary. And do you have news of when we can see King Gonnoss? Our mission is of the utmost importance, as I’m sure you’ve been told. It is imperative that we solidify our plans and move on our enemies as soon as possible.”
Emissary Ikar folded his hands together, the sleeves of his cloak covering them as he rested them on his slightly bulging belly. “His Majesty would see you settled before accepting you into his presence.”
“This is no political game, Emissary,” Moloch said. “There’s not much time for settling.”
“Of course not, my lord.” The emissary bowed his head, but then met Moloch’s eye. “Shall we go to the Pinnacle Fortress straight away? Your rooms await, and your pikkans must be ready for rest. Then, His Majesty will welcome you into his court with open arms.”
Moloch waved toward the road beyond the emissary. “Very well,” he said. “Lead the way.”
“I suggest you dismount, my lord, and walk your pikkans to the fortress. It is a long way up the mountain and occasionally foreign beasts get skittish on our bridges. It’s best to gently guide them across single file.”
Moloch dismounted and gave the order for the others to do so as well. As Emissary Ikar led the way between the stone pillars, two younger emissaries appeared from a small cave on the other side of the entrance. They flanked their elder on either side, all three keeping in rhythmic step.
They came upon the first stone bridge. Smooth gray pillars held up the bridge, descending into the chasm below. The bridge was perhaps wide enough for ten men to walk shoulder to shoulder, but per instructions of the emissary, they guided their pikkans down the center. Citizens of Pytar passed them on either side, some glancing their way. No one seemed particularly worried about the safety of the bridge, except his own party of men.
“It’s all right, Dancer,” Moloch whispered, more to calm himself than the pikkan.
Bram spoke from behind Moloch. “Unnatural, isn’t it?”
“I’d say so.” Moloch replied. “They’re practically floating.”
Emissary Ikar looked back at them. “Don’t worry. They’re not going anywhere. They’re sturdy as the mountains themselves.”
Moloch took a deep breath as he looked at another bridge, higher than the one they were on. Its stone pillars rose as supports, but they seemed too tall to be so reliable. “If you say so,” he said, looking ahead and trying not to think about how far it would be to the floor of the mountain chasm.
“I do,” Emissary Ikar said. “It’s said that these bridges are older than The Schism. Not as old as the Ancient Bridges, of course, but maybe made with the same materials. Held up by ancient enchantments, or perhaps the Sustainer lent a hand in their construction.”
Ancient enchantments as in the dark arts. Moloch repressed a shiver. The dark arts had been banned for a reason, held in disdain and deep suspicion by nearly everyone. It felt insane to trust a thing that could have such sinister origins, whether it be these city bridges or the great Ancient Bridges themselves. But he kept his thoughts to himself. As for the idea that the Sustainer had built the bridges, and it was His power that kept the bridges in place…
I’ll trust in the Sustainer once He gives me reason to.
It was a relief to step off the bridge onto solid ground on the other side. They followed the emissaries up the side of the mountain as they passed a variety of caves.
Some had large, yawning openings, inside of which were more caves with doors and curtains under shop signs. Others had balconies carved into the mountain’s face, the openings smoothed into arches. The higher up the mountain they traveled, the more of these homes had wooden doors, thick tarrut wood with family sigils carved into their fronts.
The upper parts of the city had no bridges crossing the ever-widening gap between mountains. When Moloch looked over the edge of the road, he could see a web of bridges below. He could see the Ancient Pytarian Bridge, too. It stretched into the fog, away from the city, just above the point where the regular, smaller bridges went no higher. It was impossibly wide, with no railing.
The Ancient Bridge was supposed to provide safe passage over the deadly valley between Pytar and the southern Radelle Mountains. But Moloch found it hard not to be skeptical. He’d never used an Ancient Bridge, and the thought was sickening. It was supposed to take three days to cross. Three days of endless fog surrounding him. Three days of floating stone underfoot. Three days of taking a chance on something that shouldn’t be there in the first place.
If only everyone could see t
he folly of the mysticism surrounding those bridges, my job here would be a lot easier.
The air thinned as they approached the Pinnacle Fortress, as did the crowd. Here, only soldiers, servants, and dignitaries or nobles with business at the fortress walked the road. Emissary Ikar stopped, and the entire envoy with him.
“Your guards may follow Vod,” he said, gesturing for one of his comrades to lead the way into a large cavern. Inside, five tunnels branched off into dimly lit passages which led into the heart of the mountain.
Moloch looked back and nodded at his men. “Follow this man. One of you must check in with me every quarter of a day.” He turned back to their guide. “Emissary, where might my men find me?”
“On the second highest level of the fortress, my lord. I will inform the Fortress Guard to expect one of your men four times a day, and whoever is on duty at the time will escort your man to you.”
“Very well,” Moloch said, nodding at Bram. “But my second-in-command here will come with me.”
Emissary Ikar agreed, and the men he brought followed Vod into the cavern to disappear into the third passageway.
“We’re nearly to your quarters, my lord.” The emissary continued leading, and soon they found themselves outside another cavern, this one heavily guarded by soldiers with spears in hand and axes at their hips.
Just inside the cavern, the sound and smell of pack animals drifted from a stable carved into the mountain on the left-hand side of the opening.
“Your animals will be taken care of here,” the Emissary said. He motioned to his other companion, who sprinted into the stable and came back with four stable hands.
With a little trepidation, Moloch gave the reins to a boy half his age. “This is Dancer,” he said as he unfastened two bundles secured across the stallion’s flank. “He may not be able to get a run in on this mountain, but I expect him to be fed well and brushed down every day he is in your care.”
The boy nodded, his face slightly pale.