Touched by the Gods

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Vadeviya laughed.

  “No,” he said, “I believe we're now in Nesbur. That's what I meant when I said Dauzger is no village. It's simply the outermost segment of the buildings around the inland side of Seidabar.”

  The towers of Seidabar and the dome of the Great Temple were now clearly visible ahead, but were still far off; Malledd stared at them for a moment, then turn to Vadeviya. “You mean from here to Seidabar, it's all towns?”

  “Exactly. At least, along the roads.”

  Malledd found this hard to believe, but he didn't argue with the old priest; he kept walking.

  Another hour convinced him. The highway was now intersected every hundred yards or so by a cross-street, and Malledd glimpsed side-streets, as well, paralleling the main road, but they were not yet in Seidabar – he could see that clearly, just by looking over the heads of the surrounding crowds. Ahead of them, unmistakably, stood Seidabar.

  It no longer appeared directly ahead, but was offset to the right, rising above the shops and houses along the road. The city was built atop a mound – a hill, perhaps, but it wasn't shaped like any hill Malledd had ever seen before; it had sides so steep they were almost cliffs, and yet the top appeared to be almost flat. He couldn't really be sure what the top was like, though, because it was hidden behind the city walls.

  The walls blended almost imperceptibly into the sides of the mound, but there was no question that the rough, rocky, weed-strewn terrain at the base was natural, and the ornate structure of black stone buttresses and wrought-iron walkways at the top was man-made. The division between wall and cliff, as best Malledd could judge, was perhaps a hundred feet above the surrounding plain; the walls rose another fifty or sixty feet above that.

  “How do we get up there?” he asked.

  “The gates are on the northwest side, facing Agabdal,” Vadeviya explained. “The road goes around.”

  “There's only one set of gates?”

  “Yes.”

  Malledd considered that, then remarked, “All my life, I've heard people speak of the gates of Seidabar, but it never occurred to me that there was only one pair of them.”

  “Oh, yes. Seidabar was a fortress first, and everything else it is now came later.”

  “A fortress.” Malledd looked up at the looming walls, the high towers, the elaborate defenses. “You know, in all the stories my mother told she credited the gods and their champions with defending the Empire, but I can't see how anyone could ever hope to take a place like that even without its divine protection!”

  Vadeviya smiled. “Well, no one ever has, of course – but Rebiri Nazakri intends to.”

  It was perhaps half a mile farther along that the highway joined with another and began to curve visibly. Buildings now lined either side in an unbroken wall, save for cross-streets and merging highways.

  This was no village, no mere town – this was unquestionably a city. Malledd had never seen one before, but there was no mistaking it.

  “Are we in Seidabar?” Malledd asked. “Or is there some other name?”

  “That would depend on who you ask,” Vadeviya said. “To all intents and purposes, this is part of Seidabar, but the purists reserve that name for the fortress. Some call this area Outer Seidabar, or the Outer City; others call it Eastern Agabdal.”

  “Are we so near Agabdal, then?” Malledd had heard of the great port that brought goods from all over the Empire to Seidabar, but had not realized it was that close to the capital.

  “Oh, yes. You'll see. Can't you smell the sea?”

  Malledd could smell a great many things, many of them unfamiliar, but had not identified any of them as being the sea. He shrugged.

  The avenue they followed continued on, curving around the base of the great mound, and at last they came in sight of the entrance to the fortress above them.

  The avenue, far ahead, ended in an immense plaza that seemed to be packed with people, and a gigantic earthen ramp, a hundred yards wide, led from that plaza up to Seidabar itself. The lower two-thirds of the ramp were built out from the mound, into the surrounding city; the top third was cut into the mound, with the fortress walls towering over either side.

  And at the top of the ramp, in the shadow of the walls, the great gates of Seidabar stood open.

  Malledd stared at those gates for a long moment, marveling at the sheer size of them – immense panels of gleaming metal, many times the height of a man and each at least forty yards wide. They opened outward, of necessity – given the ramp's slope they could hardly swing in. They hung there, suspended from their monstrous hinges and a web of cables that stretched from the gates back to the watchtowers at either side, above either side of the ramp, reminding Malledd of a bird's wings – but what sort of bird had wings of silver and gold, and so unbelievably large?

  “Come on,” Vadeviya said. “You'll have plenty of time to look at them.”

  Malledd realized that he had slowed to a stop as he stared up at the gates; now he trotted onward. Together, the smith and the priest pushed through the crowds into the plaza, and across the plaza to the ramp.

  As they marched up the steep slope, in the midst of scores of other people heading up to the Inner City, Malledd could see the gleaming dome of the Great Temple rearing up directly before them, a looming mass of gold framed between those unbelievable gates. Vadeviya noticed him staring at it.

  “We'll stop there first, if you don't mind,” the priest said, gesturing at the temple.

  Malledd, overwhelmed by the crowds, the noise, the size of the place, did not argue. The temple seemed as good a place to go as any.

  He wondered, though, what possible difference Vadeviya thought one man, any man, could make here in Seidabar.

  What did a place like this need with a champion?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Apiris, Archpriest of the Great Temple at Seidabar, Spokesman of the Gods and Speaker to the Gods, Councillor to Her Imperial Majesty Beretris Queen of the Domdur and Empress of All the World, had a raging headache; it felt as if his entire skull were throbbing and about to burst.

  This was no surprise. Sometimes he thought he'd had a headache for the past sixteen years, ever since his title as “Spokesman of the Gods“ ceased to be the literal truth. The rest of his titles didn't help much; he did still speak to the gods, but he no longer had any evidence that they listened. And while he still sat on the Imperial Council, he doubted that Beretris – or more importantly, Prince Granzer – really noticed.

  Some of the other Councillors noticed, but that didn't mean they wanted him there. Quite the contrary. Lord Orbalir had said openly that if the gods were no longer meddling in human affairs there was no more need for priests and temples, and the Archpriest no longer belonged on the Council.

  Apiris knew why Orbalir argued as he did; he didn't care one way or the other who believed what, or who sat on the Council. He simply wanted to put messenger magicians on his ships, instead of keeping them cooped up in temples. He was undermining Apiris any way he could in hopes of prying the magicians loose.

  Knowing Orbalir's reasons didn't help Apiris much, though; Lord Orbalir still did all he could to make life difficult for him.

  Lord Kadan didn't help any, with the way he ignored Orbalir in running the campaign against the eastern rebels. While it was perfectly true that as Commissioner of the Fleet Orbalir couldn't do much to help directly with what was, so far, entirely a land war, there was still a standing imperial edict that the two Lords Commissioner were to confer on any military operation. Lord Kadan seemed to feel that by telling Orbalir, before the entire Council, that his services would not be needed, he had fulfilled this edict. That hadn't helped Orbalir's temper at all.

  It wasn't as if the fleet really was completely superfluous; there were recruits and supplies to be brought to the port of Agabdal if the Imperial Army was to reach its intended size and readiness.

  And while Orbalir campaigned against Kadan and Apiris, and Kadan ignored Orbalir and demand
ed ever better intelligence from Apiris, Lord Gornir was forever bringing in delegations from the eastern provinces with more tales of woe – as if the Empire wasn't already doing everything it could! Lady Mirashan was trying to supply Kadan's army and find alternate trade routes around the Nazakri army, Lord Dabos was constantly worrying about how much damage the enemy was doing to crops and highways, Lord Shoule was seeing spies everywhere and demanding that Vrai Burrai be executed for having invented the New Magic, Lady Dalbisha was questioning everyone's loyalty and competence, Lady Vamia was exacerbating the perpetual internal feuding on the Council with her flirting, Lord Sulibai kept insisting that the Council should try to negotiate with the rebels...

  And Prince Granzer, the President of the Council, was too busy with his personal affairs and the Imperial Household to force the Councillors back into line – let alone the various governors, princes, princesses, and others who were cluttering up the capital during the crisis.

  At this particular moment, despite the agony in his head, Apiris was trying to compose a reassuring letter to Her Imperial Majesty, who wanted to know whether the gods had forsaken the Empire.

  Everyone wanted to know whether the gods had forsaken the Empire, including Apiris, but somehow he doubted that Beretris would take it well if he told her that her guess was as good as his.

  It was at this moment that someone knocked on the door of his study.

  “Oh, please,” Apiris said, dropping his quill and putting a hand to his aching brow. “Samardas, if you hear me, make it stop.”

  Samardas didn't answer; the knock was repeated.

  “Come in,” Apiris called despairingly.

  The door opened, and young Omaran, the priestess attending him today, stepped in. She bowed her head respectfully.

  “Your pardon, Archpriest,” she said, “but you have a visitor.”

  “Who is it?” Apiris said, dreading the answer.

  “He gives his name as Vadeviya, from Biekedau. He says he's...”

  “Biekedau?” Apiris blinked. “Vadeviya? Dallor is the imperial representative in Biekedau, and Danugai is high priest; I don't know any Vadeviya.”

  “No, Your Holiness, he's not... he's a priest, a scholar. He's come about the chosen champion.”

  “What, is he claiming he's the champion?”

  “No, Your Holiness. He just says he knows who it is. He's brought a man with him...”

  Something snapped. “I don't care,” Apiris shouted at her. “It's Lord Graush who wanted to find the gods' champion, not me! Send him away – send them both away, send them all away! I'll see no one, no courtesy calls, no messages, no claimants to the role of champion, no one below the rank of Imperial Governor! Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Holiness,” the priestess managed. She bobbed in a quick curtsey, then ducked back out the door and closed it quickly but – thank the gods! – quietly behind her.

  Apiris turned back to the letter, mumbling angrily to himself.

  Outside the study door Omaran hesitated, then shrugged. She had tried. She turned and headed back through the maze of stairways and passages to the anteroom where Vadeviya and Malledd waited.

  “I'm very sorry,” she told them, “but the Archpriest is terribly busy just now, and really can't spare the time to see you.”

  Vadeviya frowned. “You told him that I've brought proof of the identity of the gods' champion?”

  “Yes, sir, I told him that, but you must understand, ever since Lord Graush first suggested we find the holy champion, we've had people turning up here, or at the Palace, claiming to be him.”

  Vadeviya glanced up at Malledd, but the smith's face was unreadable. If he was thinking “I told you so,” he was hiding it well.

  Malledd had not wanted to talk to Apiris. He had argued that Vadeviya had sworn not to tell anyone that he, Malledd, was the divine champion, and Vadeviya had countered that he wasn't going to tell Apiris, he was simply going to show him Dolkout's letter and let him draw his own conclusions.

  Malledd hadn't thought that would work, and it appeared he might be right.

  “I see,” the old priest said. “And did you tell him that we have a letter from Dolkout, the Biekedau high priest, confirming our claim?”

  Omaran sighed. “I told him everything I could, sir,” she replied.

  Somehow, Vadeviya doubted that that was literally true, but it didn't really seem worth pressing the matter. After all, if they had gotten in to see Apiris, what difference would it have made? It was clear to anyone who had ever seen Seidabar in peaceful times that the entire city was on the verge of chaos, with people scurrying about every which way on mysterious errands; Apiris was probably deluged with matters demanding his attention. He wouldn't have had time to worry about Dolkout's letter.

  “All right,” he said. “Then should we find this Lord Graush?”

  Before the little priestess could reply, Malledd growled, “No. I am here as a smith. The army wanted smiths.”

  Vadeviya glanced at him and smothered a frown. He had thought that Malledd had gotten over most of his reluctance to acknowledge his foreordained role, but apparently he was suffering a relapse.

  Omaran blinked. “Lord Passeil has taken responsibility for arming our soldiers, if that's what you mean – under the direction of Lord Kadan, of course.”

  “Very good,” Vadeviya said with a sigh. “Where do we find Lord Passeil?”

  “Lord Passeil is a member of the Imperial Council, sir.”

  “Yes?” Vadeviya looked politely inquiring.

  Omaran looked flustered. “I mean, he isn't going to meet personally with every armorer who volunteers! You'll have to report to the Imperial Armory.”

  Vadeviya nodded. “And where is that?”

  “On Wall Street, beyond the palace.”

  “Thank you.” He turned and beckoned to Malledd.

  When they were out of the anteroom and out of Omaran's earshot, in the long stone corridor that led from the priests' entrance out to the street, Malledd muttered, “We could have accomplished just as much by asking any of the guards at the gate, or anyone on the streets, and done it far more quickly.”

  “If all we wanted was the Imperial Armory, yes,” Vadeviya admitted. “I had hoped for rather more.”

  “Didn't get it.”

  Vadeviya considered various retorts, but the moment passed before he could choose one. They stepped out of the temple into the plaza, and Vadeviya led the way around the Great Temple toward Wall Street.

  The crowds were thick here; Malledd was astonished by the throngs. The brief stop at the temple had let him start to forget the size and density of Seidabar, and now they were plunging into the most tightly-packed mob he had seen yet.

  It was daunting. He couldn't take a step without bumping against someone, without thrusting an elbow into a woman's face or a boot into a child's knee. People of every size and shape, wearing clothes of every imaginable cut and color, pushing in every direction, filled the street for as far as Malledd could see.

  The noise was the worst of it. The jostling wasn't a real problem for someone Malledd's size, and he could see over most of the heads, but the shouting and thumping and unidentifiable other sounds of a thousand people going about their business added up to a roar that was surely even louder than the rumble of the Lower Falls of the Vren. Up until then, Malledd would have said that the only sound he had ever heard that was louder than the Falls was thunder, and thunder never lasted very long, while the Falls sounded constantly.

  The sound of massed humanity in the streets of Seidabar was like a thunder that never ceased.

  “Who are all these people?” Malledd shouted to Vadeviya as he pushed his way through the crowd, the priest following in his wake. “What are they all doing here?”

  Vadeviya didn't try to shout over the crowd; he just shook his head and pointed the direction they had to go. Malledd pushed onward, past nobles and beggars, tradesmen and whores.

  When they finally stepped past
the guards into the cool dimness of the Imperial Armory, the sound changed – the roar of the crowd was replaced by shouting voices and the clanging of steel, echoing from the stone and plaster walls. It was loud, but nowhere near as overpowering as the hubbub in the streets, and Malledd sagged in relief.

  They were directed to a clerk seated behind a table; they crossed the room and stood before the table, waiting, until the man deigned to notice them. He seemed far more concerned with arranging a stack of papers properly, and making occasional marks on them with a short-clipped quill, than in attending to his visitors.

  “Your business?” the clerk asked at last, abandoning his papers, capping his inkwell, and looking up at Malledd's chest – he seemed incapable of bending his neck far enough to see Malledd's face. He had a lilting, musical accent, as had the priestess; Malledd knew he had heard someone speak like that before, but he could not remember exactly where or when. A long time ago, certainly.

  The guards at the door had already asked his business, and Malledd gave the clerk the same answer he had given before: “I'm a smith.”

  The clerk nodded. “You're volunteering to work here, equipping the Imperial Army?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good.” The clerk smiled unconvincingly at the front of Malledd's blouse. “Where are you from?”

  “Grozerodz,” Malledd answered.

  The clerk strained his face a notch upward and looked politely blank. Vadeviya interjected, “It's a village near Biekedau, along the Yildau road.”

  “Ah, a village smith,” the clerk said, nodding and bending back down to his papers. “Unspecialized, then?”

  It was Malledd's turn to look blank, and the clerk looked up to see why no answer had been forthcoming. He had to crank his gaze much higher than he liked to determine that the applicant had not understood the question.

  “I mean, you did general metal-work, rather than any one specialty?” he asked.

  “That's right,” Malledd agreed.

  “Ever make a sword?”

  “No,” Malledd admitted. “But I learn pretty fast, and I've made a dozen or more good steel daggers.” He didn't mention that he'd made at least as many that hadn't come out well at all before he got the hang of it.