Kerraunus unclasped his riding cloak and flung it aside. "Asander, I see you have found Cretis' throne room!" he said, striding towards the Irrylian.
Asander jerked upright with a start. "Ah, Prince Kerraunus!" he exclaimed. "But this is a magnificent piece. The entire courtyard, in fact." He upraised his arms. "Simply splendid! Although, I must confess, I rather fear where I step, lest I find fangs buried in me."
A very sensible caution, Kerraunus thought. "I am the Snake Man, you know. The hand of Cretis on earth, and all that," he said with a smile.
They were surrounded by snakes -- carved into the furniture, standing in stone on either side of the altar, in the colorful tiles of the mosaic floor, open to the sky above. Kerraunus took off his headscarf and leather corselet. An attendant took them immediately. "Wine for our guest," he commanded, with a sharp clap of his hands. Then, "Come with me, Asander. We shall repair to some place … less menacing."
Smiling, Asander bowed and Kerraunus led him into a small room lined with overstuffed couches of gold-trimmed snow-white fabric, matching Kerraunus' tunic and kilt. They drank their wine out of large shallow drinking bowls. On them were etched scenes of men killing lions.
"A gift from our friend Lymadus of Sethaly," Kerraunus explained. "I have saved them especially for your visit, since he is the man you are currently trying to kill." One of them, anyway.
Asander laughed uncomfortably. The last time Kerraunus had seen him had been years ago in Epiria, one of Demetrius' conquests. Ten years, perhaps? Asander had not been afraid to get his hands bloody then. He had been a dark, strong man, a captain of Demetrius' bodyguard, a bull-headed killer. Now, he was no less strong and dark, but he wore a thin pointed beard that gave him a cunning look as well. In place of the leather cuirass, he wore the flowing blue robe of the Gyriecian diplomat. Kerraunus at once decided that he liked him better when he had done his killing in the open.
Asander set his drinking bowl down on a low-standing table. A cloud had passed over his face. "I have seen Lymadus' lapdog Redic. He is already at the palace, no doubt seeking help from the king."
"And no doubt he will receive it," Kerraunus said.
"Myletos will send troops to aid Lymadus against Demetrius?"
Kerraunus shook his head. "Myletos will never send troops. He plays with his fleet now, like a boy in the bath. The fleet is the coin of the realm, Asander. Tygetian soldiers stay in Tygetia."
"But what of you, Kerraunus? What of the Snake Man and his troops?" Kerraunus laughed, and Asander added quickly in a sober tone, "We need men, Prince. You must know that Cretis, called Sarlon in Gyriece, is worshipped widely in both Irrylia and Epiria. Demetrius' witch, Pylia--"
"The cult of Cretis spreads with Demetrius' conquests? I had no idea the man was so devout."
"Well, yes…he is…" Asander stammered for a moment. "Pylia, of course, is the real practitioner…"
"Yes, a charming pair they are, too. You know, you should speak to Hurrus on this matter. He is forever wanting to assemble an army and return to Epiria. Demetrius wouldn't mind the troops of the Eagle Man on his soil, would he?" Kerraunus wondered how much Asander knew of the men coming for Hurrus. It was the Prathian General Menleco who sent them, but Kerraunus suspected that Demetrius was behind it. Either he or his witch Pylia…
Asander cleared his throat. "Hurrus lacks the seasoning of the Snake Man…"
"My men go nowhere without the blessing of Myletos, and Myletos will never agree," Kerraunus went on. "We have constant troubles with the Sarians on our eastern border." In fact, Kerraunus knew that the Gyriecians would slaughter his soldiers. His was an army made to defeat Sarians, though he would not soon admit it. Tygetia had little to fear from land armies and Myletos' fleet was the most powerful to ply the Middle Sea. "His lovely daughter is one of Lymadus' wives, though perhaps not yet his favorite. Perhaps she never will be. It is a sore point with her, I know--"
"You speak of Sarina, of course, your half-sister--"
"My half-sister takes good care of herself, Asander. It is what she does best. In fact, it would not surprise me if her hand wasn't in this somehow…"
"Sarina has nothing to do with it. It is Theon of Lacecia. He has broken away from Sethaly. He declares his independence and appeals to Demetrius for help. Nothing more--"
"Demetrius, the freedom fighter," Kerraunus said with a sardonic laugh. "And he would make me Lord of Lacecia, I suppose?"
"All prosper who fight for Demetrius--"
"And I could rule a province in the middle of your Gyriecian maelstrom, ensnared between murderous foes? I can think of better places to be than under Demetrius' thumb, my friend." Kerraunus saw the blood rising to Asander's face. "As appealing as all this sounds, I must tell you, Asander, that if you have come here solely to find help for Demetrius' reckless adventures, you've wasted your time." Kerraunus stood. "I hope you had a pleasant sail, because that's all you will get out of this trip. Besides a wedding feast, that is," Kerraunus added. "As you will certainly be attending?"
"Of course," Asander said, rising. "Demetrius would not dream of failing to have an emissary at Prince Hurrus' great day."
He sends more emissaries than perhaps you know, Kerraunus thought. But, then again, perhaps not… He couldn't help but wonder.
A servant girl glided into the room to refill their cups. Kerraunus waved her off and she left on cat's feet. Another in a translucent gown appeared in the doorway and lurked there just out of Kerraunus' sight. He saw Asander gaze at her in astonishment.
"You will at least speak to the king on our behalf?" he asked when he had finally pried his stunned eyes away from the hairless beauty. "Convince him that it is an entirely internal affair--"
"I couldn't agree more, ambassador," Kerraunus said, cutting him off. "I care little what sort of bloodletting you Gyriecians engage in among yourselves. But I will speak to my father. However grudgingly given, I have enjoyed Irrylian friendship, even if he has not." Kerraunus turned his eyes to where he knew the girl hovered just beyond the doorway. Asander began to speak, but Kerraunus held up a hand. "This is where we shall leave it for now," he said. "You can show yourself out."
Asander forced a smile and then bowed in a pantomime of obsequiousness that ill-suited him. He walked from the room.
"Oh, and captain," Kerraunus called after him. Asander stopped and turned. He was standing on the cobra mosaic. "I suggest you watch where you step." When the former captain gave him a puzzled look, Kerraunus added, "Snakes…"
Asander's cunning face cracked a little smile. Then he turned and left.
The servant girl came out from behind one of the pillars that supported the walkway above, moving like a ghost. Her nimble fingers removed one of the bronze snakes coiled around Kerraunus' bicep, and she began massaging the muscle there. Then she removed the other.
"The stinking Gyriecians offers me some little slave kingdom in exchange for Tygetian blood…" Kerraunus murmured with his eyes closed. He was feeling the fingers teasing out the tension in his taut muscles. "There is no prize worth taking in all of Gyriece… Asander's plea is folly… The prize worth taking is Tygetia…"
The girl dug her thumbs into his bicep. Then he felt her hands slide upward and her fingers began kneading the muscles of his shoulder. Kerraunus thought of sending a man to meet the Prathians in Reeking Town. He felt a tug on his arm. Soundlessly, the girl led him deeper into the house, her plump buttocks swaying.
Reeking Town could wait.
Chapter 5
"We don't serve Gyriecians here," the barkeep said.
The remark did not surprise Xanthippus. He reflected that while Archentethe was full of Gyriecians, the wine house of Reeking Town was not. It was, apparently, a strictly Tygetian establishment. Workers from the neighborhood lye factories filled the tables and the stench of them filled the air. Nydeon was easy to spot, sitting alone at his table, his thick hair amid a sea of shaved and wigless Tygetian heads. It was not the sort of place Xanthippus himse
lf would have chosen. Outside on the streets of Archentethe they blended comfortably with the population. Inside the wine house of Reeking Town, their pale faces and full heads of hair shouted their foreignness. Torches guttered on the walls and on the thick square column that supported the roof, but even the dancing shadows failed to conceal their Gyriecian presence. He noticed some of the patrons glancing warily in Nydeon's direction.
Xanthippus slapped a couple of coppers down on the bar. "I want only water," he said in the Common Tongue.
The barkeep, with a sly look, replied with a flurry of colloquial Tygetian. Xanthippus felt the blood rise to his face.
"I suppose you think you're clever--"
"Don't you understand plain Tygetian?"
Xanthippus turned his head and found himself gazing into the chin of the man next to him. He raised his eyes to see a giant staring down at him with a condescending, amused expression. His dull, cruel pig-eyes immediately reminded Xanthippus of the jackals of Jakuk, only this fellow's forearms were as thick as a normal man's calves and he had clearly drunk too much wine.
"I don't understand any Tygetian," Xanthippus admitted, knowing that his ignorance applied to more than just the language. He was beginning to lose his patience. No one had been at the wine house to meet them. He and Nydeon were sitting alone at their table--
"Well, let me translate for you," the giant said. "The man doesn't serve Gyriecians here. Is that plain enough for you?"
The barkeep began chortling, an obnoxious sound in any language.
"Oh, it's plain…" Xanthippus said.
"Look around," the giant went on. "Other than your little friend there, do you see any other miserable Gyriecians here?"
He reached across the bar for the flagon the barkeep had put there for him, pointedly elbowing Xanthippus out of the way as he did so. He was wearing the same infuriatingly sly smile the barkeep had adopted. Repulsive. Xanthippus grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his face down hard on the bar. There was a cracking sound as the giant's nose broke and patrons' cups clattered all along the bar. A smear of blood marred the oaken timber where the giant's face had landed. He collapsed at Xanthippus' feet. Xanthippus bent down and propped him up against the base of the bar. It had happened so quickly that most of the reeking Tygetian workmen had not noticed a thing.
"Looks like our friend has fallen asleep," Xanthippus said. "I'm afraid you have overindulged him. Now, you were saying about not serving Gyriecians?"
"Here," the barkeep said clearly in the Common Tongue. He slid the giant's flagon across the bar. "Take it."
"I wanted only water," Xanthippus said. He was not a strong drinker. The last thing he needed was a drink-induced sluggishness, and he had a feeling that the wine here in Reeking Town was not prized over all for its bouquet.
"There is a well outside for water. In here, there is only wine. Wait! I will send my boy and he will bring water to you." The barkeep began clapping his hands and looking about for his boy, but Xanthippus stopped him. He had had enough eyes on him already.
He sighed. "This will do," he said, taking the flagon.
Turning, he almost collided with a Tygetian man in a white, gold-trimmed tunic. The man was frowning at him. Xanthippus moved to walk around him.
"What do you think you're doing?" the man asked. His eyes flashed angrily.
By the gods! Not another one...Xanthippus assessed the man quickly. He had the face of a brute, square and strong, but the fine thread of his clothes and the gracious braids of his wig gave him an incongruously aristocratic air. At least this one wasn't a giant.
"I was trying to have a drink of water," Xanthippus said.
"You're attracting attention. Come back and sit down." He put two silver coins on the bar and nodded toward the sleeping giant. The barkeep scurried around the corner and began dragging him into a back room. The brutish man grabbed Xanthippus by the elbow and led him to the table where Nydeon waited.
"Our man showed up," Nydeon said.
"Oh, happy day," said Xanthippus crossly. "What kind of place have you brought us to?" he asked the brutish man.
"Shut up," the man said.
"No, you shut up," said Xanthippus. "You say I am drawing attention to myself, but you have brought us to a place where we cannot be missed."
The man winced and peered nervously out of the corners of his eyes. "Keep your voices down," he said. "We are perfectly safe in this stinking hole. It is the most anonymous place in all of Archentethe."
"And we were to meet you here at sundown," Xanthippus went on unabated. "Well, the sun has been down for some time now, and here we sit, preyed upon by the local thuggery--"
"You mean that limp mass the barkeep is dragging away? He was preying upon you, was he?"
"Not for long..." Xanthippus said.
"Lucky for the local thuggery that I arrived when I did," the man said, with a thin smile. Xanthippus noticed for the first time that a bright welt of scar tissue marred his dark face from temple to jaw. The lids of his right eye pinched at the corner. This man is not long from Reeking Town himself, Xanthippus thought. The Tygetians send us hoodlums dressed in fine thread... He clenched his teeth.
"What do we call you?" Nydeon asked.
The man's face darkened. "You don't," he said. "What you are about is very serious business--"
"And yet we are watched all the time," Xanthippus observed. "Do you see him, Nydeon?"
Nydeon nodded. "There are two of them. Blue men."
"Blue men?" The brutish man ducked his head. His eyes darted back and forth between Nydeon and Xanthippus. He would not follow the men's gaze.
"Blue headscarves and kilts. Yellow stripes, yellowwood staffs, long curving swords…"
The man smiled. "Local peacekeepers," he said. "Nothing more. They watch you no more than they watch everyone."
"Is that why we encountered them in Jakuk?" Xanthippus asked. "Apparently, Archentethe peacekeepers have a long reach."
"In Jakuk, they were called Sotheb's men," Nydeon noted.
"Why would Sotheb's men follow us here?" Xanthippus asked.
"Sotheb's men? What in the seven layers of hell are you talking about? Don't worry about them. Listen, the prince marries in two days. We must--"
"Oh, but I am worried about them," Xanthippus said. There were two of them, standing one on either side of the front door. Blue headscarves covering smooth Tygetian skulls. Large, well-built men, a cut above the common rabble of the wine house. Each carried a bright yellowwood staff. No one paid them any attention. One of them gazed across the crowd and caught Xanthippus' eye. "I'm worried about that one, in particular."
"The one who keeps staring at you?" Nydeon asked.
"Yes, I think he has fallen in love with me..."
"When you got up for the bar, that one left out the door," Nydeon said. "He thought you were leaving by the side door, and he moved to follow you."
"Did he now?" Xanthippus rose to his feet.
The man grabbed him by the wrist and tried to urge him back into his chair. "Sit down," he said. "Those men are nothing--"
Xanthippus looked down at his wrist and then up into the man's eyes. "Release me now, or I'll give you a scar on your left to balance the one on your right." The man's hand opened. Xanthippus looked at Nydeon. "I will see about these blue men," he said. "And you," he said to the brutish man. "When I get back, you better not be here."
"My master will not like this," the man warned.
"You seem to sow displeasure."
Xanthippus could hear Nydeon laughing behind him as he strode towards the side door. He walked with loud, heavy, purposeful steps, impossible for the blue men to miss. Outside, the narrow alley was plunged deep in inky blackness. The barman had said that there was a well in back. Knowing that the blue man would be coming around the front, Xanthippus decided to make for the well. It was possible that both blue men would have followed him, so he hurried, taking rapid, soft steps.
The back yard of the
wine house was bathed in the pale light of a full moon. The moon was huge and yellow on the horizon. He caught glimpses of it in the alley spaces between neighboring buildings. Its light imparted to the walls a smooth, creamy texture, casting deep black shadows on the blue-tinged ground. A line of tethered horses stood along the back wall, Xanthippus' own among them. Laughter and muted conversation drifted out to him through a window and a couple of the horses lifted their heads and nickered at him as he approached. He spied a man sprawled out among the horses, dead to the world drunk. His wig had displaced a few inches from his head. Then Xanthippus saw that it was not a wig, but a pile of dung. An absurd thought flashed through his mind. He imagined the wagers his former chums in Prathia would have placed on this fellow. Would he wake before one of the horses shit on him? The smart money was on the shit...
The well stood twenty paces across open ground. Crouching, he crossed the space stealthily, but fast. No sooner had he hidden himself behind the well than the first blue man appeared at the corner of the building he had just vacated. Within moments, the second appeared at the other. They exchanged looks and shrugged. Then one of them noticed the drunk and he stiffened with a start. He approached the prone form carefully and jabbed at the man with his staff. The drunk muttered in gibberish and rolled over, snoring. All bets are off now, Xanthippus thought. The boys would have been disappointed. Without question, the blue men would have suffered for ruining the wager. They conferred with an air of urgency. Had Xanthippus wanted to kill them, he would have secreted himself among the horses near the drunk. It would have been easy. Look at them! Babes for the taking…
The blue men argued for a moment, afraid they had lost their quarry. They were going to split up. Xanthippus could hear the panic in their voices. There were two exits out of the yard. One of the men bolted toward the first, a distant black alley. The other rushed blindly in the opposite direction, toward a second alley that lay beyond the well. He was coming straight for Xanthippus' hiding place. The Prathian reached inside his tunic and gripped the haft of his dagger.
The Blood Gate Page 7