Waray leered at the two of them, annoyed by how easily they’d written off her word, and were now going on like she hadn’t been right all along.
“There’s a šo-welcoming city here,” she hissed, though she was now beginning to wish she had been wrong. Something about her first visit had unsettled her greatly: something that was strumming her mind at this very moment. She tried to put it into words, and it came out as a muttered, “Welcoming.”
She frowned. She had not fumbled the word, yet it was nevertheless off-putting. As far as she was concerned, cities should not be welcoming. They should not wave you in. And they most definitely should not strum. “The wall,” she rambled. “Like a line of šo-desperate cheese. ‘Come in, come in,’ it’s saying. ‘Take a load off. Have a drink. The rams are out and rutting, but they’ll be back for dinner. You’ll stay, won’t you?’ And there’s a clap of horns in the distance. And the cheese is peering at you like a šo-lonely wheel. But you have to go because you’ve got a thing tomorrow. A thing. That’s what you say.”
Waray gave a brisk nod, certain she’d gotten the point across in clear terms.
Ashtadukht paid her no heed. She’d toned the half-div out the instant she’d started talking from the perspective of a wall.
“Let’s investigate,” she said.
“Is this really something we should be concerned with?” asked Tirdad. “Maybe we should contact the local authorities. I do not see any divs.”
“Well, I don’t see any divs either. But that’s because I can’t see over walls. And that’s why we should investigate. Not to mention that an entire city has just been revealed as hiding in the very heart of Iran, and for who knows how long.”
“All right, all right,” Tirdad said with a sigh. “I am convinced.” He wasn’t even all that against it; he only wanted her to consider a more circumspect approach in the face of curiosity. Just to consider it.
Ashtadukht strolled into the narrow pass between walls. She did so at the same time cautiously and eagerly, the two fighting for control of her gait.
Stretches of long-neglected mortar fenced her in at either side, and she wondered how many years had passed since someone had walked into this city. There were no sentinels to stare down their noses from the ramparts, no flags billowing in the wind, no sounds emerging from within. Even so, it was unsettling being herded—or in her case having herded herself—into what could quickly become a walk of death. She imagined arrows being loosed, burning pitch being poured, boulders being dropped, and decided that perhaps she had been a bit hasty in her entry. Then she reassured herself that there was no need to resort to such overkill with three measly intruders. They’d only use the arrows, if that.
She wasn’t all that surprised when they reached the arched entrance without being accosted, but that didn’t make her any less relieved. The gate, what was left of it, hung in splinters from failing hinges, half of it already bested by gravity.
“Does not seem to have been penetrated by an invading force,” observed Tirdad. “It would have buckled inward if anything.” He indicated a length of wood that looked sturdier than the rest. “And the brace is still intact.”
Waray, who’d been following in disquieted silence at the rear, and with one leg practically turned the other way in advance of a retreat, drew up beside Ashtadukht. She peered past the dilapidated gate and into the wide, stall-lined lane where a busy throng milled. The smell wafted out like a wave of sun-baked feces steeped in spices. The din came last, as if the city were being hurriedly pieced together to greet unexpected guests.
“Too welcoming,” Waray said. She shook her head disapprovingly. “A city should never strum.”
Ashtadukht and Tirdad exchanged looks in equal parts bewilderment and suspicion. There had been an empty lane beyond the gate only heartbeats earlier. Now, it bustled.
“Well?” asked Ashtadukht.
“I should be the one asking that,” said Tirdad.
“I’m waiting for you to decide how you’re going to convince me to turn back.”
“Would you listen?”
“No.”
“You have your answer, then. We will enter, and I will have another occasion to say I told you so when it is all said and done.”
Ashtadukht smiled. It wasn’t one of her typical breed. Instead of aspiring to deceive in its delivery, it was patently fake: an admission of guilt without the slightest inclination to correct the cause. She thanked his clemency and headed in.
The crowd didn’t exactly part for them, but it did seem to Ashtadukht to impede their progress less than she’d experienced in similarly packed streets. Like it subtly adjusted its flow instead of moving out of the way. One patron would decide she’d rather have something from the booth two down. Another would decide against berating a thieving urchin in their path.
Ashtadukht thought these things, but she wasn’t really certain they were the case. It could very well have been true that the illusion Waray had somehow dispersed took some time to fully dissipate, which would explain why the population wasn’t detected initially. That would not explain why they were here, what they were doing here, or why an entire city had been cloaked in sorcery to begin with.
Her mind wandered to the half-div as she aimlessly pressed through the crowds. While it was true that she had been ignoring Waray’s terribly desultory chatter, she did recall something about strumming, which struck her as particularly noteworthy. Chiefly owing to how she’d describe what she was feeling: a come hither sort of strumming and a promise of safe refuge. Not to mention how Waray had sliced through what must have surely been a potent illusion like so much wind. That half-div still had some surprises up her sleeve.
Thinking of, Ashtadukht glanced over her shoulder. Waray had vanished, this time to no one’s surprise. She brought her gaze around to find the half-div hovering in front of a booth just ahead, her veil removed and peering with untrammelled interest at the wares. None of the crowd seemed to pay her any mind, and the proprietor of the little stall was hounding her like any other customer. Ashtadukht stalked over.
“Waray! What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped into the half-div’s ear, snatching her by the arm. “Put your veil on.”
“Can’t see all the little bumps,” Waray intoned, prodding a nearby muskmelon. “Sick of gruel. I want a šo-bloody slab. Or eggs. Do you think he has eggs?” She pursed her lips and directed her attention to the man behind the stall. “Why do you make chickens run? Does the fear soften the shells?”
Ashtadukht offered the baffled man an apologetic smile before shoving the veil into Waray’s chest. “Put it on,” she ordered. “This isn’t a request.”
“Pardon me,” interrupted the vendor, “but what did you say this little lady’s name was?”
“Huh?” Ashtadukht noticed the sweat beading on his brow, and the way he seemed primed to bolt off—a deer having just spotted movement across the clearing where it grazed.
“Take anything,” he said, bobbing his head eagerly and indicating his wares. “Take it all. Anything you want. Melons? Walnuts? I’ll find eggs. There’s a friend down the lane with some mighty fine eggs.”
“I’d like mighty fine eggs,” said Waray. “Sounds exciting.”
Ashtadukht reached inside her tunic to retrieve her coin purse; she figured he wouldn’t let them go until they’d bought something now that he’d snagged Waray, and that shutting her up would be worth a few coins.
“No, no!” the man objected, shaking his palms at her once he realized what she was doing. He bobbed his head more vigorously now, his pained grin having somehow grown wider. “No cost. Absolutely free for, for such a, uh, prestigious pair.”
“What?”
Waray leaned in conspiratorially. “Give me šo-fine eggs. The finest eggs I’ll ever crunch. And mighty, too. I want them now.” She canted her head and tapped a melon meaningfully. “I want them yesterday.”
Ashtadukht watched in disbelief as the man ran off, tripping over the ad
jacent stall as he did. “Now you’ve done it,” she said.
“Done what?” asked Tirdad, who’d momentarily lost them in the crowd. He gave Waray one dreary double-take before picking her up, carrying her between stalls, and depositing her well beyond the bustle.
“Your veil,” he said.
Waray pulled it on. “I’m going to need my eggs, too.”
“Was she noticed?” he asked.
“Prominent scales? Those eyes?” said Ashtadukht. “No, I imagine the man was in such a hurry because he’s a paragon of customer service.”
“Great,” said Tirdad, arms akimbo and staring down his hooked nose at Waray. “Just great. What were you thinking?”
“What were you thinking?” she retorted.
“I asked the question.”
“Carrying me off like some, like some . . .” She cocked her head. “Like one of your whores.”
“I do not have wh—” Tirdad began to growl before it was cut short by the distinctly authoritative rapping of a spear on a shield. It drew the attention of all three.
“You there,” bellowed the nearest of a dozen armed soldiers. “You’ll come with me.”
Ashtadukht knotted her brow. She was by no means an expert, but it seemed to her like their trappings were out of place. Not necessarily out of place where they stood, but out of place in the world as she knew it. There was a distinct sense that these men had been chiseled from the very rock relief that’d been concealing the city. That they’d walked straight out of it.
“Behind us, too,” said Tirdad, one hand tapping on her back to signal that there were five.
She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.
“I’m a star-reckoner employed by the King of Kings, may he live forever, and I’m escorting this div to its interrogation.”
“I don’t care,” replied the guard impatiently. “You’ll come with me.”
“What about my eggs?” asked Waray, her voice thick with worry.
“You’ll come with me,” repeated the soldier.
“I don’t think they’re interested in parlaying,” Tirdad observed.
“I was told there would be eggs,” Waray hissed. “Mighty fine eggs.”
Tirdad lay a hand on her shoulder, pre-emptively mooring her. “Whatever we are doing, we should do it now,” he said.
“Well,” Ashtadukht amiably answered, “we’ll accompany these men, of course. I only thought they should know exactly what they’re interfering with.”
She started forward, tipping her wide-brimmed hat as she did, and the soldiers parted to encircle the three of them, escorting them through the curiously not-at-all-curious throngs, which they navigated effortlessly. Ashtadukht took heed of how the soldiers waded through the teeming market-goers with the ease of a lackadaisical brook. She wasn’t quite certain what it signified—that perhaps their authority was feared or respected—only that it surely had some as of yet unearthed significance. Generally processions would have had to be either private or afforded a wide berth in order to move so swimmingly. She knew this because she’d taken part in several and witnessed many.
They coursed a straight shot up the main thoroughfare, to an elevated section of the city where the crowds dissipated and were replaced by stone pathways lined by meticulously pruned vegetation and carved pillars. Here and there, a pillar had lost its capital.
Their approach took them directly away from the thoroughfare and in doing so afforded Ashtadukht little more than a view of her immediate surroundings. Even that was restricted by the tight formation of her escorts, all of whom were taller than her.
She craned up at Tirdad. He looked calm yet alert. “Can you see anything?” she asked. “I’m only getting glimpses through their formation.”
“We are headed directly for what I suppose is the city’s centre structure. It is the largest anyway. Looks like a pair.”
“Hmm.”
“I do not see anyone else between here and there; that has been the case since we entered the raised area.”
“Must be the royal district,” Ashtadukht surmised. She might have asked if the soldiers weren’t so austere-looking. Like they’d rather wrestle a lion than entertain the idea of conversation, and had to make that pristinely clear through uninterrupted scowls. “I can’t decide if that’s a good sign.”
“We will find out soon enough,” said Tirdad. “Good or bad, it is out of our hands.”
“I’m getting miffed,” grumbled Waray. “Beginning to think those šo-fine eggs aren’t coming.”
“Don’t write those eggs off just yet,” Ashtadukht reassured her as they passed beneath a low, square arch and into a room heavy with the haze of incense. The soldiers fanned out in a line behind the trio, which revealed a throne room furnished with popping braziers and painted with brilliantly-coloured murals that had the strange appearance of both undergoing restoration and having just undergone restoration all at once.
It wouldn’t be a throne room without a throne. This particular throne was golden but not garishly so; it was an altogether tasteful seat of power as far as Ashtadukht was concerned. Its occupant, on the other hand, did not look the part of any respectable ruler.
If it weren’t for his place on the throne, the attire of his station, or the long scepter he was tapping on the edge of his foot stool, she would not have given him a second glance. If he had reached puberty, it was only recently. He was beardless, scrawny, and the divine glory—the very heart of a king—did not glow in his features.
“Hallo,” he said in a voice that had not yet dropped.
Ashtadukht wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Should she prostrate? Cover her mouth? Hide her hands? Mercifully, the boy saved her the trouble.
“You may rise,” he said as if they’d already paid their respects. She decided to keep her hands hidden and mouth covered to be safe. Erring on the side of caution was typically the best response to being brought before royalty, especially by an armed escort.
The king levelled the tip of his sceptre in her direction.
“You don’t belong here,” he said, and he almost seemed pleased by the idea. “Who are you?”
“Ashtadukht,” she answered. “May you live forever, Your Majesty.”
“O Great King,” he corrected.
Ashtadukht stared hard at her feet. She hated etiquette, but she hated improper etiquette more. Improper etiquette could put you in a gibbet. “O Great King.”
“Good.” The king went silent, but she got the impression that he was nodding. “Good,” he added at length. “I thought you might be you, but it never hurts to ask. Not me anyway.”
Ashtadukht swallowed.
“So,” the king went on, “what brings an odd little hunter of divs like yourself to my city? Surely your quarry must be important to have you cutting down the curtain around my walls.”
Ashtadukht chanced a glimpse of the king. He had crossed his legs, and was now slouched to one side with his jaw in his palm like one who expects either an explanation or an execution. Perhaps both.
“I . . . have no quarry,” she limply answered. “This was all accidental.”
“You would have me believe you accidentally dispelled the illusion, and accidentally entered my city?”
She glanced at Waray. She couldn’t read the half-div’s expression under her veil, but her posture spoke wonders for her crackling agitation. She’d be hard-pressed to find an individual more ill-suited to an audience on a tightrope. “The former, O Great King.”
“Ah,” the king responded, having surmised Waray’s role by observing Ashtadukht. “So it wasn’t you, but your companion. A parig? You’ve indentured a patroness of sorcery?”
“She’s no parig,” Ashtadukht replied. She said this without thinking, because Waray practicing sorcery seemed as absurd as Tirdad practicing div-worship.
“But she is the one responsible,” the king concluded. “You,” he speared the air with his sceptre. “Remove your veil.”
There were
n’t many things he could have commanded that Waray would have enthusiastically obeyed, but that was unequivocally one of them. She tore the veil off and threw it dramatically to the floor.
“As I thought,” said the king, giving the impression that he knew more than he let on. He motioned for the soldiers to depart, and they promptly filed through the exit. “Come,” he bade the companions, and indicated the cushions at his sides. “Come sit.”
All three hesitated: the cousins because they knew the significance of sitting beside the king, Waray because she did not like to be told to sit. Those cushions were generally reserved for boon companions, or in the case of empty thrones, leaders from brother empires such as Hrom—though rarely ever used in practice.
Still, they did as they were told, lining up to one side with Waray farthest removed, though already on friendly terms with her cushion.
The king faced them and spelled out in grim words an ominous preface. “I’m going to share something with you. Something that will perhaps shake your little lives to their foundations. You must understand that the moment it is revealed, you will be in immediate and outstanding danger. But you must also understand that you have no choice in the matter.”
Ashtadukht nodded. She did not appreciate the way he spoke; he wore his fright nobly, but he still wore it. And when a king freely shows fear to strangers, those strangers had better take heed.
“Like so many before me, I was once the son of a vassal king. A just king. Unfortunately, being just went against the scruples—well, they had none, but it went against certain courtiers. Courtiers with clout.” He shook his head. “The worst kind of scum. No offense meant.”
“None taken,” Ashtadukht mumbled through her cuff.
“So they cut my father down. I imagine they thought I’d be easier to control. Hah! Hardly. When they prevailed upon me to be unjust, I refused. Subterfuge got them nowhere, so they came knocking with a host I could never hope to turn away.
“Realizing my position was untenable, and too attached to my homeland to let it fall to scoundrels, I resorted to measures I shouldn’t have. I requested aid from anyone who would listen. Eshm answered.”
A Star-Reckoner's Lot (A Star-Reckoner's Legacy Book 1) Page 16