The Gift of Premonition did not feel like a gift today. It urged him to leap into the flyer now and abandon his post, flying as far as he could manage, then running into the desert to live among the wild people. He swore to himself, checking the craft's mooring, then climbed back onto the path.
A sunny day. Dust in the sandals, sweat along the hairline. Marar climbed the steps of the tenements on the city's fringe. The buildings dragged behind the city of Mab on old ropes that had frayed over centuries and were patched and repatched until the bindings became a patchwork of sisal and hemp fibers that stuck out at odd angles, fluttering in the breeze.
He rang the bell of an apartment at the top of a rickety stairwell, the wooden planks swinging nauseatingly on their rope supports. From the top of the stairs, the city's backside was plainly visible, leaving no doubt about this location's undesirability. Like a giant snail, the city left a stinking trail in its wake, a slime made of wastewater and refuse and dirt. The odor was so intense that it survived even at this height, hundreds of feet above the ground.
An elderly gnomish woman answered the bell, a permanent snarl etched on her face. Seeing Marar, she recoiled.
"You tell them!" she shouted. "You tell them I already paid my tax this month!"
Marar sighed. "Woman," he said. "You paid your imperial at the stall. I'm collecting for the city. We've been through this before."
"I shouldn't have to pay," she muttered, fishing in her pocketbook for the coins. "I'm old and the city gives me nothing but trouble."
"It's fourteen in copper," said Marar, consulting his list. "That's seven for this month and seven you owe from last month."
"Seven?" the woman said, clamping the pocketbook shut. "It used to be five!" Behind her, a pair of scrawny gnomish children wandered to the door and tugged at the woman's skirts. Marar felt a deep sadness for them, and his premonition headache throbbed.
"The city raised it four months ago. We've been over this."
"What's your take? I know you pocket the difference."
Marar smiled. "No, woman. I only profit from those who can afford to pay extra. I put no more burden on you than you can withstand."
She fished out fifteen coppers and handed them over. "You can keep the change," she said. "You're not as bad as the last man they had."
"Thank you," he said.
Marar finished his rounds in the tenement district and returned to the Assessor's Office for his break, his bag half full. The two legionnaires standing outside the office gave him pause; he stopped and closed his eyes for longer than a blink. They could not be there for him. No one knew. He'd been too careful. Even so, the premonitory headache refused to go away. It pounded behind his eyes, presaging terrible things.
One of the legionnaires cast a glance backward at the assessor, who nodded slowly in Marar's direction.
The legionnaire approached Marar, and for an instant his vision went gray, and the soldier spoke as if from a great distance.
"Marar Envacoro," he said. "You are under arrest for crimes against Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Mab."
Hy Pezho, seated at the right hand of the Queen, paid close attention to his fingernails while Prefect Laese'am rattled on about taxation. Pezho knew that his inattention to Laese'am would draw disfavor from among the Prefecture, but it was necessary to bolster his position with the Queen. Only one truly close could ignore a Prefect so openly without censure. Mab, for her part, appeared to be ignoring both of them.
A messenger entered the council chambers deep within the heart of the Royal Complex. He bowed to Mab and held his message toward her, his face to the floor.
Mab read the message and laid it on the table. She rose.
"Gentlemen, there is more pressing business to which We must attend. Let us proceed to Our observation deck that we may witness yet another sign of Our glory."
Mab led the way from the council chambers, creating a frenzy among the attendants and servants both of the Royal Person and of her Prefects. A swarm of valets saw to the robes and tunics, assuring that they hung correctly for walking. A pair of servants dusted the ground before the Queen, lest she tread on dirt. It was a group of over fifty that left the council chambers in a double-file line through the main entrance. A two-story teak door with brass knobs fit for giants opened for them. Hy Pezho stroked the wood as he passed, three paces behind the Queen.
They ascended a wide spiral ramp at the top of which Hy Pezho could see blue sky stippled with cirrus clouds. Along the ramp's path were hung bright scarlet banners bearing slogans in Old Court Fae depicting the past triumphs of Mab.
Hy Pezho drank it all in with a hidden smile. Already heads were beginning to turn when he entered rooms. And, no doubt, the tall, thin ladies-inwaiting were whispering his names from behind their pillows and fans. It was all he could have asked for, and soon it would be more than that.
Queen Mab's observation deck was a generous tiled expanse overlooking the entire city and the lands below. Terraced gardens overflowed with marigolds and chapelbells laced with flowering vinca and begonias. A fountain in the shape of the city sparkled in the afternoon sun, its worn stones scrubbed and polished to a shine. Servants had placed deck chairs near the south-facing railing, and the assembled Prefects jockeyed politely with each other for seats nearer Her Majesty.
Hy Pezho, accepting an iced coffee from a servant, looked out over the railing and saw what the Queen intended them to see: the city of Gefi.
Gefi was smaller than the city of Mab, but what she lacked in size she made up for in architecture. Golden spires pushed up past the city's mainmast, glittering in the sunlight. On the city's main deck, the streets were laid out like the spokes of a wheel, with a great fountain in the center. Even from this distance, Hy Pezho could see the rainbow that hung eternally over the fountain. Streamers of red and gold silk hung from the lower decks, and when the wind gusted, they twisted with the currents of warm air. The city's sails were at full mast, and she was tacking against what appeared to be a strong crosswind.
"Behold the city of Gefi," said Mab. The assembled Prefects slyly checked each other's faces for a sign of the attitude one ought to take toward it. No one seemed certain.
Mab called forth a messenger and dictated a note to the Chambers of Elements and Motion. "Bring the wind at Our back," she said, "and pull Gefi nearer." The messenger bowed and ran from the deck.
The Queen took her seat and, as one, each of the Prefects did so as well. Hy Pezho found himself again at the Queen's right.
"Is Our demonstration ready?" she asked him, beaming broadly.
"Yes, Your Majesty," said Hy Pezho. He sipped his coffee.
Mab waited a few moments, wearing no discernable expression, her attendants hanging with ever-growing suspense on her next motion. Finally, she clapped her hands.
"Have the prisoner brought forth," she called.
A pair of legionnaires dragged a man onto the deck, holding him by a pair of manacles on his wrists. He was dressed in the robes of a tax collector and had been beaten severely. He had difficulty keeping up with the legionnaires and stumbled often.
The legionnaires brought the man before the Queen and pushed him to the ground, then retreated a single pace, at full attention.
The Queen stood, precipitating a mass arising within the rows of deck chairs.
"Your name is Marar Envacoro?" Mab said to the man.
The man lifted his head toward her and took a deep breath. "Your Majesty," he said. His voice was strained.
"You are an Arcadian spy, are you not?" The Queen lifted a single eyebrow, a refined gesture.
Marar shook his head slowly. "No, Your Majesty."
Mab smiled. "Do you know the human tale of the disciple who denies his Lord three times before the cock crows? Will you do the same, Marar Envacoro?"
Marar said nothing.
Mab nodded to the legionnaire. "Are these not your Arcadian prayer beads, Marar Envacoro?" The legionnaire held a string of red beads aloft.
&
nbsp; A tear formed in Marar's eyes. "No, Your Majesty, they are not."
Mab smiled again, the grin of a predator. "Turn around, Marar Envacoro." The legionnaires stepped forward and dragged Marar around to face afore the city. "Do you recognize the city of Gefi? Have you not spent many days there with the Arcadians who have infected that place, coordinating their evangelical efforts?" She strode toward him and pushed down on Marar's shoulder, bringing him to the ground. "Are you not, in fact, the chief operative for the Arcadians among Our people?" Her voice was stern, deep. Some of the Prefects cringed.
"No, Your Majesty, I am not." Marar's head hung.
"And sadly there is no cock to crow at your denial. But there is still work for you, Marar Envacoro." Mab knelt before him and took his face in her hands. "You see, We know who you are. And We know that the leaders of the Arcadian conspiracy make their home in Gefi. What We do not know are their names. We want you to tell Us their names, Marar Envacoro."
Marar fixed his jaw. "I cannot tell you that."
"Really?" said Mab. She stood, her skirts swirling about her like a storm in the dust. "Prefect Laese'am. Tell us the crime of Blasphemy."
Laese'am rose to his feet and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty is the law of the earth and its sole ruler. To raise another's words and deeds above Your Majesty is the highest treason. That is the crime of Blasphemy"
"Correct," said Mab. "Bring forward the wife and child."
A second pair of legionnaires led a petite woman onto the deck. The woman carried a small blond boy of two or three years.
"We rarely offer choices to traitors, Marar Envacoro," said Mab. "But We are a merciful ruler and We are not without lenience. There will be crucifixions in the main square tomorrow morning. Either We will have the Arcadians in Gefi, or We will have your wife and child. The choice is yours."
Marar's wife clutched the child to her chest. "Marar, what is happening?" she cried. "What have you done?"
Marar stood, his limbs shaky. He spoke, as if reciting, "The children of Aba will not dwell in fear nor will they suffer the lash of the tyrant, for Aba will protect them."
"Marar!" shouted the wife. "Stop it! Stop, please. What's going on?" Her words broke into deep, throaty sobs. The child, who had been sleeping, awoke and began to cry.
"Well, Marar Envacoro?" said Mab, sternly. "Which will it be?"
"Aba," he prayed, "protect me from my foes, give me the voice to speak against the oppressor, give me the will to thwart my enemies. Aba, I ask for your protection in the name of She Who Will Come."
"Answer me, Marar," snapped the Queen. "If you do not choose, I will choose for you."
Marar began to shout, his eyes shut. "Aba, protect me from my foes! Give me the voice to speak against the oppressor!"
"Marar!" his wife cried again and again.
"So be it," said Mab, and her voice was bitterly cold. "Take the woman and the child and prepare them for keelhauling."
Marar lifted his arms skyward. "Aba, do not forsake me!"
"You are a fool, Marar!" said Mab. "You place your faith in a god who does not answer, a power that cannot be shown. If your god is so great, then have him deliver you from me! I defy your Aba. I spit on him. Let him come and take me!"
She leaned in toward Marar and whispered in his ear. "They'll take your boy, truss him like a pig. Then they'll hang him upside down beneath the city and let him dangle. When the wind blows just right, the garbage and ordure from the aft neighborhoods will bathe your boy as it falls. He'll starve down there and no one will hear his screams and then the crows will eat out his eyes. Tell Us what We wish to know and he will be freed. You have Our word."
Marar looked skyward. "Not my son!" he shouted, his face flush with rage. "My son! My son! Aba!"
"Tell me their names!" The Queen shook Marar by the throat. The Prefects, the legionnaires, the servants, all sat perfectly still. "Tell me their names and your son will live!"
"My son!" Marar whispered through sobs.
"Enough!" the Queen shouted. Her voice took on a supernatural depth; it rang out across the hills.
"If We cannot know their names, then We must assure their destruction another way. Hy Pezho, I give you the floor." The Queen brushed a few stray hairs from about her face, returning to her seat, her face blank.
Hy Pezho rose. "Gentlemen, I have prepared something for this contingency," he said. "Have the catapults brought forward."
One of the guards at the edge of the deck signaled to another below, at a garrison post just outside the Royal Complex. A number of legionnaires there wheeled a great wooden catapult from a bay beneath the post.
"The missile within that catapult," said Hy Pezho, "is of my own devising. I trust you will be impressed."
Hy Pezho looked southward. Gefi was near firing range. Another minute and it would be his.
Marar lay prostrate on the ground, saying prayers into the dirt. The Queen spat. "By failing to decide, you have made your decision, Marar Envacoro. Now you will observe its consequence." She waved at the legionnaires who'd brought Marar in and they lifted him to his feet, facing him directly toward Gefi.
"When you are ready, Hy Pezho, give the word."
Hy Pezho fought a grin. He made a chopping motion with his right hand. The legionnaire at the balcony's edge repeated the motion. Far below, a soldier with an ax hove against the catapult's restraint and the engine's arm whipped forward, sending its package, a blackened globule, skyward.
The projectile fell far short of Gefi. It struck the ground near the city's edge and rolled beneath her sails and planks.
"Hy Pezho!" barked the Queen. "You missed!"
Hy Pezho let the grin come. "I never miss. Your Majesty." He whispered the word of unbinding.
Beneath Gefi, a column of flame erupted from within the projectile, a vertical beam of red and orange and blue. The city's center tore apart as though it were made of paper. A halo of debris, flashing sailcloth, and vaporizing flesh made a corona around the column as it expanded upward. Beneath the city, a colossal black cloud of dirt and ash billowed out, breaking trees like matchsticks and setting the grass aflame.
The sound came soon after, an impossibly low bass rumble; it hit Hy Pezho in the chest, nearly pushing him backward. For a few seconds, the only thing he could hear was the fierce thunder of destruction, as the city's enormous yellow and green sheets caught flame, sending plumes of white smoke skyward.
Marar watched, defeated, as the terrified citizens of Gefi leaped to their deaths in order to escape the flames.
Gefi, riding high at an altitude of over a hundred feet, began to topple. With her chambers of Elements and Motion destroyed, she no longer had the power to remain aloft. The city-burning, scorched, ablaze-toppled and fell to earth, her structures collapsing, her massive floors breaking apart with thick wooden cracking sounds. When she hit, she hit hard. Every remaining building fell into sticks, every spire crumbled and disintegrated. Within seconds, there was nothing left of Gefi but an enormous ember, a smoking hull where a city had been only moments before.
"Most impressive," said Mab, when the sound abated enough to allow speech.
"It pleases me you approve," said Hy Pezho, bowing.
"Marar," said Mab, rising from her seat. "See what you did?" She turned her back, saying, "Cut his throat."
"What of the wife and child?" said Hy Pezho. Everyone on the deck stopped short, including Mab. She turned slowly.
"Let them live," she said to Hy Pezho. "Show them that their Empress is not without mercy."
The legionnaires stepped forward and slit Marar's throat open with their swords. His blood poured onto the immaculate tile of the observation deck, but his eyes remained skyward.
Chapter 18
contested! a comeuppance
Beyond the boundary, the Contested Lands proved bleak and dry, littered with sharp stones and dust. Dry brush and gnarled trees grew in places, and shadows lay low upon the ground, even at noon, with nothing to cast them. A bit
ter wind scraped along the floor of the valley in which they rode; it was warmer here than in the Eastern lands they'd just left, but the wind was harsher and it blew dust and sand in their faces. Will o' the wisps darted among the dry branches of the trees and small rodents skittered through the dust. In the sky above, carrion birds waited, circling.
Their progress west had been halted by a mountain range that ran north and south across the Contested Lands. They'd followed it north for most of a day before discovering this valley, and Gray Mave's weak Gift of Premonition indicated that it was passable. So far the valley's bottom had been level enough, following the course of a tiny stream which was frigid but unfrozen. At least they didn't have to melt snow over the fire in order to drink.
Raieve rode in back, tasting dust, keeping watch behind them. That was fine; the steppes of Avalon were dusty as well, and feeling the grit against her teeth almost made her homesick.
Thinking of home made her stomach twist inside her. She'd been gone for three years; anything might have happened during her absence. Had the Tongul warlords conquered the steppes in the Unseelie's absence? Had her own Heavy Sky Clan managed to unite the other clans and reform the Concordat? Or had the Unseelie perhaps returned and begun their predations anew, this time with better leadership and in greater numbers?
There was no way to know, and the not knowing ate at her.
Ahead of her, Mauritane rode point, insisting on silence and stopping often as they progressed through the valley. He'd told her to watch for any sign of an ambush, and she held back a hundred yards or so, eyes searching all around for signs of trouble. For the moment, though, she only watched Mauritane.
Here was another mystery. She'd been brought up to believe that the Fae were capricious, spineless fools. Her experience with the Unseelie in Avalon had gone a long way to confirm the impression. Their strategy had always been to make sloppy attacks with overwhelming numbers, seeming not to care how many of their own soldiers died as long as they achieved their objectives. Their invasion of Raieve's world seemed to progress almost randomly, without any apparent forethought. Granted, their lack of strategy often wreaked havoc on the plans of the insurgence movement, but it was also the Unseelie's ultimate undoing. Five years ago, the attempted occupation had proved a failure in both governance and profitability, and Queen Mab's army simply stopped fighting and left. Cowards. Barbarians. Fools.
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