by Arthur Slade
It was a long walk to the market, a sign of how large this city was. The street opened into a giant square featuring a thousand vendors or more; salted meats, roasting meats, and live chickens and pigs were everywhere. There were vegetables and fruits glistening on display stands. And other merchants hawked jewellery, blankets, clothing, and perfumes. It all looked so rich. Half the containers were made of bronze, the other half traced with gold. This was where the wealthiest citizens lived. Ships would bring these goods from around the Empire and from the Five Realms to Akkadium.
I made my way to a line of large golden tents in the centre of the market. Despite how early it was, there was already a long lineup of workers who wanted to be employed inside the palace for the Feast of Friends. Megan was in another line across from me. At least I was pretty certain it was her — I’d only seen her mask in the dim light of the offal house. She ignored me, which was the wise thing to do. No sense letting any clever observer know our connection.
There were too many people blocking my line of vision, so it wasn’t until I walked through the tent’s door and was only five people from the front that I bit my tongue and nearly let out a yelp.
There were five Immortals and several royal staff in their immaculate white garb, but they hadn’t caused my heart to beat faster; standing at the head of the line, in glittering chain mail, was Scyllia.
And she was taking the time to stare each of the workers in the eye.
“Not this one,” Scyllia snapped. “Begone.” The woman nodded and exited through a side door.
I couldn’t leave the line — that would draw attention. Each of the Immortals stood with hands on their swords as if eager for Scyllia to bark an order to instantly behead whoever she pointed at. I patted for my daggers, then cursed my memory. We’d decided it best not to be discovered with weapons. I had only my bare hands to defend me.
“Not you, you’re too ugly!” Scyllia shouted at a smallish man.
So that was why the line was moving so quickly. She was rejecting almost everyone.
“This one,” she said next. “To the library. Go through.” And the woman who was two places ahead of me walked between the Immortals to be inspected by the royal staff.
“No! Begone,” Scyllia said to a hunched-over woman.
“But I need the work. I have a child,” the woman said, and she reached out to grab Scyllia’s hand.
Scyllia slapped her hand hard. “Flee before I have them skewer you and your children.” The woman scuttled out of the tent.
I breathed in through my nose, took a step forward, only glanced at her, and looked down.
“Not this one. Begone!” She waved her hand.
Relief flooded through my veins. I’d taken one step away when she said, “Wait. Look at me.”
I turned back and met her fierce eyes briefly, then stared at the floor.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Gurna,” I muttered. I made sure my voice was hoarse and unrecognizable.
Scyllia continued to glare, and I didn’t dare look up. The Immortals visibly tensed. I rehearsed exactly how I’d flee — I’d have to duck and run from side to side to avoid the crossbow.
Another second passed. Another.
“You look strong,” Scyllia said. “To the stables with you.”
“Th-thank you,” I whispered.
I kept my shoulders scrunched up as I went past her and stepped between the Immortals. I expected her to give a hand signal and for one of those blades to be stabbed through me.
But the blow didn’t come.
I’d made it through.
An officious-looking man with a golden amulet, a sign that he was a steward of the palace, stopped me by raising his hand. He grabbed my arm and squeezed it. “Yes, you’re strong enough,” the man said. “I assume you’ve dealt with horses.”
I nodded.
“Join the stable hands over there.” He motioned toward a group of women and men sitting in the back of a wagon. I knew little about horses, having only dealt with them on two occasions. But they couldn’t differ greatly from swans, I told myself. Except they didn’t eat rodents.
As the wagon pulled away, I saw Megan join the line for the housemaids. I didn’t wave but gave her the slightest nod.
The first part of our plan had worked.
Chapter 10
Such Good Teeth
As we approached the palace my knees knocked together and I drew in my breath. It wasn’t out of fear, for I’d felt many types of fear, but pure awe. The walls of the palace were a smooth marble, while the perfectly rounded towers with their Akkadian curves and peaks seemed to reach right into the heavens. And the White Tower, glittering like a polished elephant tusk, lorded over it all. This was a level of craftsmanship beyond any I’d seen before. The Red Fortress was a sturdy backwater structure compared to this.
Every other worker — man or woman — looked to be in equal awe. So, I wasn’t alone.
We didn’t go in the front gate because that wouldn’t do for servants. Instead, we were taken to a side gate, one I remembered from the executioner’s drawings, and told to leave the wagon. The steward wiped his hands on his frock and then knocked twice, and the small gate swung open and two Immortals strode out and stood on either side of the door. A tall woman who reminded me of a crane came out between them.
“I am Horse Benalk and you’ll do everything I ask of you.” Her voice was reedy. The Horse in her name meant she was guardian of the stables. “Stand very still with your arms held in front.” We did so, and she pointed at us, saying, “Search them.” Two soldiers grabbed and jostled each of us roughly, trying to discover hidden weapons.
Benalk had her own inspections to do, for she walked right up to me and commanded, “Open your mouth wide.” It was the kind of thing a farmer would do before buying a mule, making sure the creature’s teeth were good. I nearly muttered a complaint but thought better of it and stretched my jaw to the limit. She pulled out a long metal skewer and poked my teeth. “Your teeth are good and solid,” she said.
It dawned on me. She was searching for a poison tooth or wire woven between my teeth that could be used as a garrotte. She had been warned about the different tools assassins used.
“My mother never let me eat sweets,” I said.
Her measuring gaze didn’t leave me. I wondered if my mask showed that it wasn’t real skin. Then she said, “Stand here. Don’t move. And don’t speak unless asked a direct question.”
I stood there as she inspected the other servants. Their teeth were noticeably worse than mine — we were fed properly at the Red Fortress. That meant I stood out.
“Follow me,” she said when she was finished, and she led us through what I thought at first twas a tunnel, but after several steps it became clear it was the path through the wall. That meant the palace walls were at least thirty feet thick. If any enemy somehow made it through the outer walls and defences of the city, they would find this palace to be an impossible nut to crack.
We emerged into the courtyard and I glanced around. A glass conservatory stood to one side, more glass than I’d ever seen, with flowers in every visible space. Butterflies flew in and out the open panes. To my right were row on row of statues, so I knew where I was in the plans — the Garden of Heroes.
The stables were long buildings open at one side, surrounded by a network of wooden fences. A huge flag displaying a horse flapped above the largest barn. The scent of manure tickled my nostrils.
“You’ll find shovels over there,” Benalk said. “Fill those wagons. I will tell you when to stop.” Then she turned. “I am sure even someone with such good teeth can do this work.”
“Of course,” I said.
I didn’t like being singled out. It meant that I’d been noticed, and the last thing I wanted to do was be memorable.
I grabbed a shovel and began to fill the wagons.
Chapter 11
Not a Word
We filled wagon after wagon
, which I guessed would end up near where Thord, Brax, and the swans were hiding. We paused to let a group of horses go by. They were majestic beasts bred to race, and they outshone the ones Maestru Beatrix had shown us. Groomsmen took them inside the barn to brush and clean them while other servants tied their tails with perfect bows and attached Akkad Empire flags to their bridles. It would be a majestic display for Emperor Sargon’s allies and guests.
When I glanced at the White Tower, something in my dragon eye caught the light and it painted the whole structure red. Was I seeing some spell? It went back to its familiar ivory colour, but a chill crept down my back. Perhaps it was better not to know. I intended to stay as far away from it as possible.
Even though I wasn’t a wizard, I’d never want my bones to lie there.
By early evening, as the sun began to set, we finished shovelling the piles of manure into wagons. My nostrils still burned with the smell, my eyes watered, and my arms ached. During two breaks for water, I’d been able to spot a rookery near one corner of the palace. That would be for messages. And the glint of armour and a protruding giant bolt in one tower indicated a ballista crossbow. So they could easily bring down any dragon or swan approaching the palace. I assumed there was at least one more ballista in each of the remaining three palace towers, not to mention others planted around the walls surrounding the city.
Horse Benalk led us to the side gate and handed each worker a coin and a paper. I clutched both tightly.
“Your payment,” Benalk said. “Arrive at this gate by six bells tomorrow, present this paper, and expect to work twice as hard as you did today.”
We walked through the thick walls and onto the lawn surrounding the palace. I began the long trek to the offal house. My sense of awe had vanished, perhaps from smelling horse manure for the whole day. That was a good thing — I wouldn’t be approaching it with such trepidation tomorrow, the day of the Feast of Friends. I bought food in the market and left through the northern gate, winding my way to our sweet-smelling home.
“Where’s Megan?” Thord said the moment I opened the door.
“I thought she would have returned by now,” I answered.
“Do you think they caught her?” He was rubbing his hands together. A day trapped inside this dung house might have driven him mad.
I shook my head. “I think if there had been an assassin caught each worker would have been inspected again or even held overnight and questioned.”
“Did you even try to speak to her?” he demanded, limping a few steps closer.
“No! I only know that she got past the inspection and was in a cart on the way to wherever they took the maids.”
Brax coughed out a puff of smoke. “Listening to your feeble intellects grapple with basic conclusions makes my stomach turn,” he said. “She is spending the night there. My guess is, because she and the other servants will interact with the guests, they will not be let out of the palace so they won’t bring any weapons, poisons, or diseases in. And they probably want their servers clean.”
“Clean?” I asked.
“You two stink. And even Megan, who is the most concerned about her appearance, has a — how shall I put it — unattractive stench.” He tapped his nose. “Trust me on that. The palace will bathe the servants so each of them smells like a rose as they serve.”
“Oh,” I said. “That makes sense.” I sniffed, aware that I’d brought much of the smell back with me from the horse yards. I could use a hot bath too.
“Of course it does.” Brax scratched at his ear with a talon. “And please don’t make me spend another full day with this boring, boring boy.”
Thord glared at him.
“Oh, don’t give me that hurt look. You can’t even discuss books. What point is there in having a brain if you don’t read?”
“I don’t have time to read novels,” Thord said. “We’re a little busy trying to kill the emperor and Corwin.”
“One makes time for such things if one is civilized,” Brax said. I was in total agreement there, but I saw that he was taking a deep breath to launch into another attack.
I put up my hand. “Food,” I blurted. “Food! That’ll take the edge off. I brought food.”
I handed a wrapping with sausage and cheese and dried berries to Thord and then walked over to Brax and brought out a roasted chicken.
“Well, that’s like feeding one oat to a horse.” But he poked a talon into it, shoved the chicken into his mouth, chewed twice, swallowed, and begrudgingly said, “Thanks.”
I joined Thord, and we ate silently for a few minutes.
“What was the palace like?” Thord asked.
“The executioner’s plans don’t do it justice,” I said. “Those are just pieces of paper. To actually stand there inside the walls, looking up at the main keep and the White Tower. It … it is almost unbelievable that they built such a palace.”
I sat back. My bones and my flesh were weary. But it was night, and I knew this was the best time to take to the air.
“I think Brax and I should make another sweep around the city. It’s time to stretch your wings, Brax.”
This got a smile out of him.
Chapter 12
Clouded Skies
The clouds blocked the moonlight and the starlight and made it difficult to see the shadow of Brax’s wings from the ground. It felt good to be on his back again and taste the fresh air. Fresh air! We swung out into the nearby mountains. The coolness awakened me so that I was tingling with life.
“Hold on,” Brax said, and then he dived almost straight down, plunging hundreds of feet in a few seconds, arcing at the last minute and scooping up a mountain goat in his front talons. Its neck was already broken and I turned away as he stuffed it into his mouth. I couldn’t block out the crunching and cracking of bones.
“You can open your eyes now,” he said. I did so, seeing that tufts of wool were stuck to my cloak. I brushed them off, thankful I wasn’t spattered with blood. “I have to eat.”
I understood that. But the whole episode was a reminder of how powerful he was. The goat hadn’t even uttered a bleat.
We circled closer to Akkadium; the city’s lights seemed brighter, perhaps because no light was coming through the murky sky.
“Let’s wing our way over to the port,” I said.
We circled around the city, and as we approached the port I couldn’t help but be impressed by how two corners of the wall reached far into the water, leaving a large protected bay that was safe from bad weather and attacking fleets. How many slaves had drowned to build those walls? But the port itself was jammed with hundreds of ships from around the Five Realms: Avenian triremes with their twin sails, the single-sailed and sleek Truskian ships, and even several Woden longships.
But what caught my eye was a line of square barges, like a floating island, beyond the wall. We edged as close as we dared, uncertain where the first air wards would be located.
“What is that line of barges?” I asked. They had been tethered and anchored in one place.
“Fireworks,” Brax said.
“You’re right. What a massive collection! That’s enough to light the sky for hours — at least half a league of fireworks. They must be for the feast tomorrow.”
As he hovered in place, I felt the excitement build despite myself. We’d rarely had fireworks at the Red Fortress, but when we did all the students had been allowed to stand on the balcony and watch. This show would make that look amateurish.
A dark-winged shape leaving from one of the palace towers caught my attention.
“Do you see that?” I asked.
“Yes,” Brax said, and without a word he pushed his wings harder so we rose into the clouds. I lowered myself closer to his back to keep from being blown off in the burst of speed. He stayed above our target and soon my dragon eye could focus properly.
It was a rider on a black swan. Obviously Corwin had stolen a collection of swans from the Red Assassin School. Could that be Corwin himself
?
“Can we get close enough to see who is on the swan? As far as I know only assassins were trained to ride the swans. I doubt an Immortal would have the skill so soon.”
We followed, heading east across the water. The swan came and went from my vision as we passed through clouds. It became clear that the rider was not Corwin — he was simply too big. Then I recognized the shape, the wide shoulders.
It was Gregum.
He glanced to the left and right. I was fairly certain he couldn’t see this distance if he looked over his shoulder.
“Should we knock him from the sky?” Brax asked.
Turning Gregum into a flaming chunk of assassin that tumbled into the sea would be a glorious sight. I ran that image through my head several times. “No,” I said, finally. “It may be a short trip, and killing him would warn Corwin of our presence. We should turn back and take one last pass around the palace.”
He spread his wings and angled them so we arced away from Gregum. The swan and rider disappeared from sight. I’d have to get revenge on Gregum another day.
It was harder going back against the wind, and I realized how far we were from land. A sudden buffet of air caught my cloak in a way that pulled my grip loose and I slid along Brax’s scales, grabbing for a handhold. He had to tip himself so I stayed on.
“Do hold tight,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to try to find you in the sea. Plus I don’t like salt water. It makes the eyes burn.” He paused. “Eye, that is.”
“You are getting somewhat whiny and repetitive.”
“You have two eyes,” he barked. “Until we both have two eyes, your ears will dine on my bitterness.”
His eye couldn’t grow back soon enough!
Another sudden gust hit me and unfurled my cloak. If it wasn’t such a useful piece of clothing, I’d untie it and let it go. I tried to bunch it up with one hand so not so much would be open to the wind.
Something harder than wind hit me.