by GARY DARBY
It’s not long before Fotina and Alonya join us and walk between Golden Wind and Wind Song. Alonya seems to be subdued, deep in thought, whereas Fotina’s expression is wooden, her lips pressed tightly together, and she plods ahead as if it’s she, and not that Elepho Oxen we saw, that’s pulling a giant plow.
We soon crest a high hill and my mouth sags at what my eyes behold. Dronopolis, the City of Queens, spreads its splendor before us and covers a broad plain that stretches clear to the horizon.
Next to me, I hear a tiny, “Oh my . . .” from Cara as her eyes dwell on the scene and for a moment, we all bring our dragons to a momentary halt at the sight.
The road we travel widens even further starting at the hill’s base until it’s twice as wide as it is now. Along the way, we passed several carts coming and going, either laden down with food produce or returning to the fields empty. All driven by males and all utterly shocked at the sight of our caravan.
The road below us gleams in silvery white as if cut from marble fashioned from the color of snow clouds and they bustle with oxen-drawn carts, a few small cohorts of marching Amazos, and what appears to be everyday citizens going about their business.
The city seems to go on for leagues and leagues in all directions. Of course, all I’ve ever known is Draconton and compared to Dronopolis, Draconton would barely cover a few city blocks, if that.
Off to my left, far in the distance, I catch sight of a tiny sliver of blue, and the sparkle of light on water. “Phigby,” I ask in an excited voice, “is that the ocean?”
He holds a hand to block the sunlight before he uses the same hand to gesture at the azure crescent. “Fotina,” he calls, “is that the sea in the distance?”
“Yes,” she answers. “That is the Bay of Gath, an arm of the Sea of Baz that comes close to Dronopolis. As I mentioned, the port lies some five leagues distant.”
Phigby shoots Fotina a look and says, “It is closer than I imagined and completely flat all the way to the city.”
“Yes,” Fotina answers, returning his stare with her own. “And no natural defense line between the bay and the city.”
At a harsh shout from behind, we hurry to catch up with Desma’s entourage as they didn’t stop to gawk as we did. We march rapidly toward the center of Dronopolis and Desma sends out runners ahead to clear the way.
As we come close to the outskirts and the first building, I see off to our right what appears to be a series of large, tall archways with long stretches of smooth stonework that connects to each arch.
What I presume is an overhead road comes out of the mountains and slopes toward the city’s edge. Farther on, I can see other smaller arches that branch off to each side.
“Lady Fotina,” I ask, “why do they put a road in the air when they have these wonderful roads on the ground. Is it a road on top of a road?”
“Those are not roads, Hooper,” she answers, “those are aqueducts. They carry water from the mountain streams into the city.”
She gestures at a grouping of buildings with an expanse of greenery that forms a long oblong. Trees, grass, and other lush bushes are interlaced with white walkways through the greenery.
“The water from the aqueducts is used to irrigate gardens and to bring fresh water to practically every home.”
“You mean,” I ask in an astonished voice, “you don’t have to lug buckets of water to cook your meals or water your beasts?”
She smiles thinly. “No, most citizens of Dronopolis don’t. Only those of us who live outside the city have to procure water in the way you mean.”
I murmur to myself, “If we ever rebuild Draconstead, I’m going to make sure we construct one of those aqua-things. No more carrying water buckets from the well to the meal house.”
Cara’s voice has a note of incredulity to it as she points at the looming buildings. “Their houses are bigger than the birthing barn at Draconstead. Some seem even larger than Wynsur Castle.”
“Big people need big houses,” I murmur, which earns me a glare from Cara as if she didn’t appreciate my matter-of-fact tone.
“From what I can see,” Phigby says, “I would judge that the Golians are masters of stonework. Obviously, as Fotina said, it appears they are more than just warriors, they have their craftsmen and artisans, too.”
He turns to Fotina. “Are all of your buildings made entirely from stone?”
She shakes her head. “No. Most of the walls are of decorative stonework, but the ceilings are a combination of heavy timber overlaid with a thin-cut masonry.”
“If these outlying buildings are any indication,” Cara says, “it seems that they take great pride in the beauty of their city.”
“Yes,” Fotina answers with a note of sadness in her voice, “it would appear that we take great pride in how we look on the outside, no matter if the inside is hollow and shallow, bereft of what once made us truly great.”
Our road turns into a broad house-lined boulevard verdant with lush gardens and tall shade trees. Even though the way ahead has been cleared so that we march unobstructed, it’s not long before we have a small army of Golians of all ages pacing beside us, pointing, and gaping, mostly at the golden.
However, many, once they catch sight of both Desma and Alonya, lower their voices, though their eyes flick back and forth in surprise. The closer we get to the city center, the larger in number the crowd grows.
I mutter to Phigby, “I almost feel as if we’re a troupe of court jesters, and they’re just waiting for us to start juggling or do magic tricks. Maybe you should let fly some fireworks, just so they get their money’s worth.”
Phigby grunts and says, “Even if I had fireworks to light, I’m not sure that would be such a good idea. From their looks, I would say that although they’re curious, I’m not certain that we’re exactly welcome.”
In answer, I quietly say, “It’s obvious that the golden is making an impression on them, but I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.”
“It’s not them you have to worry about,” Fotina declares. “It’s what’s ahead that should concern you.”
“You mean the queen?”
“Yes,” she returns. “Gru will be the one to decide our fate. Whatever that may be.”
Just then, the crowd parts as a large company of Amazos march into view. Their leader, plumed and adorned much like Lenor at South Pass, brings her company to a halt. Again a single command has each warrior banging on her shield with her sword before kneeling.
I can’t help noticing that these Amazos are different from the ones we saw at South Pass. Their helmets are plumed in purple, their shields so shiny that it almost hurts to look at them from the glare of the sun. Their light armor gleams and sparkles and moreover, each is exactly the same height.
The leader, from her kneeling position, snaps her sword up in a salute to Desma. “Princess, the queen commands that I escort you and your company the rest of the way.”
“Fine,” Desma answers in a bored voice and motions ahead. “By all means, carry out your orders.”
Without another word, the litter bearers push forward, and the new guards take up their positions, meaning they surround us on each side.
“Well,” I mutter low to my companions, “if we ever thought about running for our lives, I dare say we’ve lost all chance.”
It takes a while, but finally we draw close to the grand plaza and the enormous building that rises from its center. Ringing the edifice are giant stone statues, similar to those at the Colosseun Barrier and South Pass. Each figure holds a shield in one hand while the other holds a sword upright.
The swords blend into the ceiling as if to keep the slanted roof upright. The walls shine with an even brighter white than the plaza, and in the late afternoon sunlight are almost blinding to the eye.
At the building’s four corners are massive fluted bronze horns that lie within huge cradles. I have no idea of the horns’ purpose, but I can well imagine that if sounded, the trumpet’s blare would reve
rberate across the city, turning every head in this direction.
Surrounding the mall’s edge are buildings that are even larger than the Golian homes we’ve seen, but small in comparison to the massive centerpiece. Perfectly tended lush gardens, flowering bushes, and tall, slim, white-trunked trees surround each gleaming, marble structure. There are exactly three buildings on each side of the square, twelve total.
We cross the massive mall and Desma halts us several Golian paces from the giant stairs that lead up to the huge structure. She stands, turns, and loudly commands, “You will wait here.”
Gesturing to the guard captain, Desma orders, “If any try to escape, kill them all.”
She pointedly stares at Alonya and Fotina before striding up the stairs. Two Amazos swing open massive wooden doors, wide enough for several dragons to pass through, at her approach and then she disappears inside, swallowed by the darkness.
“Thirteen steps,” Phigby murmurs while staring at the giant building.
“Thirteen families,” Fotina whispers back.
At the mention of the steps, I stretch my neck to see if the blood that Alonya mentioned really stains the gray stairway, or not. I guess I’m too far away because I don’t see anything that looks like dark spots or splotches from where I sit.
Our guards spread out in a large square around us, their swords at the ready. To the guard leader, Master Boren asks, “May we get down?”
She gives a curt nod, and we climb down off our dragons, with Alonya helping Helmar ease onto the stone paving.
Helmar’s face has more color in it than before, and he moves better, evidence that he’s growing well, as is Alonya, thanks to Phigby’s potions.
Amil turns in a circle while saying, “Incredible, just incredible. Even if I threaten them with a sound beating, I do not think my fellow Travelers will believe me when I relate all that I’ve seen these past days.”
“Like something out of one of your fairy-tale books, Phigby,” Cara murmurs.
“Then,” Phigby grunts, “let us hope that this has an ‘and they all lived happily ever after’ fairy-tale ending.”
He takes in a breath and mutters, “Though I fear it will not.”
Master Boren points to the giant building in front of us. “Lady Fotina, I take it this is your Warrior Hall?”
She nods and motions at the imposing structure. “Yes, or as some call it, the Great Hall of Warriors. It’s our gathering place for warrior ceremonies and initiations, where new warriors are first heralded and celebrated, a sort of birthday as it were.
“It’s also where we remember and honor those of the Amazos who have died. A sacred place in our culture.”
Her face takes on a serious expression. “It’s also our seat of government, where the reigning queen issues her decrees, meets with her council and administers to the domain’s day-to-day aspects.”
She pauses and eyes us. “It’s also the queen’s royal residence and that of members of her family.”
Amil points to the ring of nearby buildings. “And those structures? Do they have some significance as there are three to a side?”
“Yes,” Fotina answers. “Those are where the matriarchs of the ruling families live. Every Golian belongs to one of those families. Each is the symbolic ancestral home to every member of that family though only the matriarch and a few family members actually live there.
“As the head of her house, the matriarch is also on the queen’s high council. That is why their homes are set next to the hall so that they can be close to the queen and summoned quickly to provide counsel.”
“Those massive horns on the roof,” I ask, “what is their purpose?”
Fotina lifts a hand toward the immense curved horns. “Those are the Trumpets of War. They are blown only when the queen so orders, and their sound carries over the city to the outermost district. When they blow, every Golian is to gather in the plaza to hear the queen, and all are to come fully armed.”
“A call to war,” Amil states.
“Yes,” Fotina acknowledges. “In all my years, I have never heard them sound, and I pray that I never do, for they are to be blown only when an enemy has breached our outer defenses and approaches Dronopolis itself.”
“As when Malonda Kur invaded Golian,” Phigby states.
Fotina’s face turns somber. “Yes.”
She pauses and then says, “It may have happened long ago, but for us, it was a time of Wilder savagery, treachery, destruction, and death.”
“But,” Phigby points out, “it was also a time of courage and bravery.” He peers at her meaningfully. “Both of your people and mine.”
“Yes,” Fotina solemnly replies, “there was that too.”
Phigby motions toward the Trumpets of War. “Then let us pray that we do not hear them sound in the very near future and that never again will such times come to Golian or to our own kingdom.”
“Agreed,” Fotina returns and then takes a deep breath. “Listen, all of you. It appears that we are to be brought before the queen. I cannot tell you what will happen for it has been many years since I last stood in this place or was within the walls of Warrior Hall.
“No doubt much has changed, and what was once is no more. What I would say to you is to be very, very cautious with your words.”
Phigby nods forcefully and adds, “I couldn’t agree more. Remember, everything we say and do is going to be noted and used to judge us.”
I can’t help but notice that he finishes his little speech looking directly at me. With good reason, I suppose.
He takes me aside and murmurs low, “Hooper, unless you absolutely must, do not show your dragon gem to anyone. The fewer that know of its existence, the better. Do you understand?”
I give a quick nod. “I understand.”
“Good,” Phigby says. “I guess all we can do now is wait.”
To be on the safe side, I make Scamper stay where he is on the golden. I’m afraid that he’ll wander off and after Phigby’s etiquette speech and Desma’s command about staying put, I don’t want him creating an incident.
The sprogs bleat that they want out of their leather imprisonment, but Master Boren orders me to cinch them tighter in their bags to make sure they don’t get out either.
While the dragons settle to all fours, we remain standing in a tight group near the golden. The dragons seem unfazed by the murmuring throng of giants, but I cast a wary eye not only at the crowd but also at our guards, who stare at us with unflinching expressions and hard eyes.
Phigby murmurs to Fotina, “Our guards wear the purple, are they Her Majesty’s personal guard?”
“Yes,” Fotina mutters. “The Queen’s Own, sworn to protect her with their very lives.” She pauses and then says in a harder tone, “And each wears the blood kilt, as well.”
Mori Amazos as the queen’s personal guard? As soon as she says it, I can feel a stiffening in our ranks as if the threat has just grown even greater.
To take my mind off our obviously hostile guard, I gaze past them at the growing throng. Most of the gawking Golians are females though there is a smattering of males.
Only a few Amazos are in warrior garb while most are covered in a flowing white robe, like satin or silk, or perhaps it’s of a similar material of their own making.
No guard or Golian in the crowd speaks to us, but their eyes flick from Alonya to the golden and back while they whisper among themselves.
Suddenly, the hall’s giant doors swing open. Amil calls over his shoulder, “Everyone, I think we’d best be putting ourselves up front. If I’m not mistaken, that’s Queen Gru coming through the doorway and she doesn’t appear happy.”
Without a word, the crowd and our guards go to one knee. Marching out of the great hall is an entourage of Golians.
At the head is a Golian dressed in armor that shines like gold in the sunlight as do her belt and leggings. Her white tunic, bordered in purple, is lustrous, and her belt gleams silver. Behind her flows a long, purple ca
pe that’s secured at each shoulder by a silver clasp.
Fotina rapidly says, “Listen, everyone. No matter what happens, do not challenge her. Now is not the time for confrontation, but be ready, for that time will come, I assure you.”
“Wha—” I start but Phigby snaps, “Be quiet, Hooper, and listen to what she says.”
“Move forward,” Fotina orders. “Everyone, form a line in front of the dragons, go to one knee. Remember, do not drop your gaze or your face to her.”
We hurry forward to stand in front of the dragons and go to one knee. Gru stops at the top of the stairs, her face hard, stern, and her eyes focused, not on the golden, surprisingly enough, but on Alonya and Fotina.
She wears no sword or bow, but she doesn’t need weapons as she’s flanked by a whole cohort of warriors.
The guards stride together in perfect unison, eyes straight to the front, shields held chest high at exactly the same height, the tips of their bronze javelins pointing skyward and all at the same level.
To her right, and just behind, limps Desma. Her eyes are down, and her face is flushed red as if she’s angry.
Gru starts down the stairs and as soon as I get a good, close-up look at the queen, my knees suddenly feel as if they’ve been replaced by mush. My insides feel like they’re twisting and churning, my mouth sags and I practically whimper, “Phigby . . . ”
“Hooper,” he growls low, “be quiet or you’ll get us all killed.”
“But—”
“Shut up!”
I shut up.
However, if my knees would have held me, I think I would have run as fast as my hobbling gait would have taken me and not looked back.
The cold death-look, the pointed chin, the pasty skin, the thin, cruel lips, and the hair that twists about her head and neck.
If Vay had a face, she would look exactly like Queen Gru.
And her icy, stone eyes have flicked from Alonya and Fotina to stare straight at me.
24
Blinking hard and rapid as if somehow that will make the vision go away, I feel my stomach start to churn, my breathing quicken. I want to run, to hide, to be anywhere but here.